Caught Red Handed
by nurzubesuch
Summary: We all know it's just a phrase. But what if it wasn't? In a world where the saint Jean Valjean never existed, M. Madeleine runs M-s-M with an iron fist, always fighting fate and trying to avoid his own doom.
1. Another Story must Begin

** Caught Red Handed**

Valjean had no idea how it had happened. After he´d fled the Bishop´s place with this huge bag of silver, things had started to blur. He couldn´t remember how he´d gotten away, only that he had lost a piece, right after he´d been out the door.

He remembered the impact of the plate on the ground, and the devastating noise it had made. He remembered his heart leaping in fear, his senses speeding up and running ahead of him. Just like he ran away from the Bishop. Faster. Just faster. As fast as he could on his bare feet. The feet of a poor man. A desperate man. Too desperate to let anyone catch him again. Not after all these years. He couldn´t go back. Never. Ever.

And then it had happened. The thing he would later on barely remember in detail. But he´d remember the blood. Too much blood. Way too much. How did this happen?

All he remembered was a voice, calling out for him, harsh and demanding. And yet, he wasn´t sure anymore, if this harshness had even really been there. Maybe it had been his haunted mind suggesting it. Maybe he´d been so full of guilt – of course, he was a thief on the run, in the middle of the night – that his mind had abandoned him, leaving him to the nocturnal thing in the depth of his soul. The dark soul that would do anything to survive, whether there really was a present danger or not.

And this was what he´d done. Dear God. What had he done?

Valjean was kneeling, in the dirt, ignoring the cold that slowly crept into his limbs. He barely felt it. All he could feel was dread. Pure horror.

The lath was still lying before him, on the cold ground. Splintered. Drenched in blood. And the man. The old man … Valjean didn´t even know his name. He didn´t know who he was or what he´d done out here in the middle of the night. Surely not hunting criminals on the run. Surely not trying to arrest him. But dear God … he´d called out for him. Had approached him. And now … Valjean sank even deeper to the ground, hands gripping what was left of his scrubby hair, and just sobbed. Uncontrollably. What had he done? Why? WHY!?

Somewhere in the distance he heard voices. Too far away to understand words. But they were there. Awake. No sleepy villagers. No way.

The nocturnal thing took over, yet again, banning all despair of its human host into the farthest corner of his mind, and Valjean jumped up. He had to move. Move and get away. But first he had to cover up his mistake. If they´d find this man there wouldn´t be a place on earth where he could hide from them.

Quickly he dragged the old man off the road, faster even than he would have thought himself capable after this night. Somehow he managed it to reach the edge, where the land gave way to a deep and beautiful dell. A dell too steep for anyone to ever climb down there and look for something they might have lost. Even a person. Very soon nature would take care of this body, leaving no trace of what had happened in this night.

Valjean pushed him over the edge.

He could hear the sounds of it hitting the rocks and rolling down, deeper and deeper, until the sounds finally stopped. Where exactly would forever remain a secret. Even to him.

He threw the bloody lath down as well, and went back to the road, to the bag full of silver. Silver he had just payed the highest price for. His soul. His conscience. His very humanity.

It didn´t change anything. If he wanted to live he had to move on. And fast.

He came until the end of the path.

**...**

It was unbelievable. How did this happen? How did he end up in the convent again, and not in prison? After what he´d done?

We caught this man red handed. The officer had no idea how right he was. Dear God. And now?  
>Valjean knelt on the floor, shaking violently. The hands he held out in front of himself, were red. Not just figuratively. This time it was real. Oh God, what had he done?<p>

The Bishop had granted him forgiveness. Had lied for him, to save his soul. And now? One stupid word from the sister, not more than a warning, to better not forget what the Bishof had said or he´d be back in prison. One stupid word had been enough and this something inside Valjean, the beast that fought for survival and survival alone, had taken over.

He couldn´t allow this. He simply couldn´t risk, to be brought back there. What if they changed their mind? What if this sister convinced the old foolish Bishop about his mistake? Even if Valjean would leave right away, he wouldn´t come very far. They´d catch him again and then everything would be over. He´d never see the sunlight again, never breath fresh air, except on that day when they´d finally lead him to the scaffold.

This guard Javert would be right in the end, and he would be dead. Long before they executed him he´d be dead inside. He couldn´t … just couldn´t go back there. Ever.

It was him or them. And the beast inside chose him. Of course it did. He had no choice.

But dear God what was the price? All these lives. What for? For him? Him?

What was happening to him? None of this was ever meant to happen. He was a man once. A human being. And now? What was he now? A monster, nothing more. A murderer, who killed for his own profit, no more no less. Sweet Jesus, what had he done?

The letter in his hands suddenly weighted tons more. As if it could drag him down, should he fall into a deep water with it, to drown him in all his sins. Javert was right. Dear God he was right.

Valjean didn´t know how long he sat there, in this chapel, hearing the guard´s words over and over again in his mind: "You´ll starve again. Unless you learn the meaning of the law."

No. No. This couldn´t happen. This could not be true. This simply couldn´t be the end of it all. He still had a chance. He was alive after all and free and that meant he could still keep his promise. The one he´d made to the Bishop. These lives must not have been lost in vain. The silver had been a gift, and he would use it. Just like he promised. This letter would not be his warden any longer, Javert´s long arm of the law. No. His life would not begin and end with it. His life would begin anew, right now. It had to. HE had to. Or he would have really condemned himself to hell.

The Bishop would forgive him, he knew. He´d seen it in his eyes, just before he turned the knife and took the man´s life for good. He´d looked at him with pity. Pity for this lost child that Valjean was. But not anymore. He would turn over a new leaf and he would change his life. Jean Valjean had to go away and never return. Jean Valjean was a thief, a murderer, a monster. And a monster could not be a good man. Someone else could. He knew he could.

And he would.

He swore it, by the lives of the people he had taken. By their souls. He would do better in his new life. He´d leave the murderer Jean Valjean behind and become a better man. An honest man.

A new name, a new life. A new story. And this time it would be different.

* * *

><p><strong>All right people. With this in mind: Happy New Year :)<strong>

**I´d been thinking about writing a piece like this for quite a while. Practically every time I heard them say: "We caught this man red handed."**

**Well, what can I say? I love exploring the possible monster inside a human mind. Especially when it comes to people like Valjean. I think it worked. **

**But please, don´t hold back if you think differently. **

**Was it believable for him to have done these things and still become the man in the story? Would the story take a different path after this? I don´t know. Feel free to share your theories.**

**And thanks for reading.**


	2. An honest Man

**All right, people. I intended to make this just a one-shot. But well … what can I say? Some set-ups take you by surprise, and they´re just too good to not try out playing with it a little longer. **

**So let´s see what kind of a man Valjean would be, without his saintly change. What kind of a story would THAT man write? And I´ve really gotta say … it was fun discovering this other man. **

**Curious? So am I. I have no idea where this story will go in the end, but here´s the new beginning. Have fun.**

* * *

><p><strong>An honest Man<strong>

In 1823 Montreuil-sur-Mer was a petty little town. But only if you lived in a big city like Paris and barely ever heard of it. When you actually lived there it was even worse. In Paris at least there were rich people on the roads who might once in a while lose the one or the other rest of their wealth in the streets for some poor beggar to pick it up and live another day with it. Besides them there were others, not royal but wealthy, social statuses of all kinds, from very high to very low, a colorful mixture, that didn´t make the very low less poor but at least provided some sort of bridge.

In Montreuil-sur-Mer there was no such bridge. In Montreuil-sur-Mer there was either very rich or very poor. And the poor outnumbered the rich by an exuberant extend. The workers inbetween didn´t really count, not when you were one of the very low, looking down when the very high rushed by.

Like now.

The mob obediently turned away, lowering their eyes, when the pompous fiacre drove by. The coachman threw disgusted gazes left and right as he steered the carriage through the tunnel, and so did the men on the footboards. The passengers could not be seen behind the heavy brocade curtains. But the gaze of the man would be even colder than that of his staff. Everyone knew this, especially when they had had occasion to see those eyes from close enough to make out this careless and ruthless gaze.

One would believe a man like that, who´d come from the downside of life just as well, would remember how it was to be at the bottom, and look down from time to time, to his fellow men, in pity. But he didn´t. He had worked for his status, had succeeded in making himself wealthy, with honest business and thus he´d earned himself this wealth.

It wasn´t his fault that the world was a mess. All a man could do was do his best to make himself better. And that´s what he had done. He was an honest man, just like God commanded it from him, and he´d been rewarded for his work. Nothing more did he need to know. Beyond this he didn´t have any responsibilities.

Every man is responsible for his life and _his_ life only. Trying to live one life is enough of a task, he often was heard saying. It could very well end up with this man in the gutter. That´s why it was so important to focus and to follow God´s word, to not to lose the way. And how could someone focus on his own way and his own oh so present failures in order to avoid them whenever they tried to sneak up on him, if he would try to figure out other people´s lives too? It wasn´t possible and therefor shouldn´t be pursued.

Whoever doubted this was free to look at him for an example. He had focused, had only worked to correct his own faults, not those of others. And he had succeeded. And there was no man and no woman in this town who could argue with that. After all, the town flourished because of him – the part where the rich lived anyway. Many had shared the wealth by doing business with him, and was there anything that could be said against that? Of course not.

The fiacre rumbled past the gate, leaving the miserable beggars behind, outside the boundaries of the factory area. One of the men on the footboards jumped off, as soon as the fiacre stopped, to open the heavy umbrella, before his master stepped out with his assistant. The second umbrella would protect the rest of his staff from the rain. And outside the guards closed the gates, locking it to keep the scum away.

Monsieur Madeleine, the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer had reached his factory.

**...**

"Monsieur le Maire." the foreman came out to greet the gathering, quickly turning back around to get inside, where it was dry. The things he had to say were too delicate to discuss it among the whole staff. He was sure the mayor would not appreciate that.

Only the mayor didn´t follow.

He stopped, safe from the rain under his umbrella, carried by his loyal guard Thomás, and glanced pointing to the other side of the yard.

"What´s the police doing here?" he demanded to know.

The foreman shifted, uncomfortable, tensing at the question. And he wasn´t the only one. The staff was with Madeleine long enough to know that their boss was not fond of the police. But in this moment, the foreman couldn´t help but notice, that one person tensed more than the rest. And it wasn´t the mayor.

Fantine hadn´t always been the personal assistant of Monsieur Madeleine. She´d gotten the post because she was beautiful, no more no less. How else could one explain that a woman – a worker like any other – who couldn´t even write and read was suddenly promoted to such a high position, taught to read and write from the mayor´s personal funds?

She hadn´t gotten the job because she was qualified. She´d gotten the job because Madeleine had wanted her and only her in this position. Because he needed someone he could trust, he´d said, whenever he´d been asked. But the foreman knew better than that. And obviously he wasn´t the only one who had his suspicions. Which was exactly the reason why he wanted to speak to Madeleine in private about the matter at hand.

But obviously this was not wished right now. Of course.

"It´s the new inspector." he informed his boss, trying to sound soothing.

Madeleine´s gaze was already too tensed, too ready to strike the next poor dog that would have the bad luck to pass by just in this moment. Well in that case, why not let the little bitch be the one to take the kick?

"What does he want?" Madeleine demanded to know, striding towards the front door at last.

The foreman hurried to follow, just as the doorman opened up for the mayor.

"He wants to introduce himself to you." he told him. "A formal meeting. That´s what he said."

The mayor nodded, all business, relieved as it seemed. And then he looked up.

"Monsieur le Maire. There´s one other thing I need to talk to you about. In private, sir?"

The foreman didn´t get an answer. His boss was still glancing up, eyes fixed on the man in the door of his office. The new inspector. The two men seemed to have locked eyes, over the distance, and something in his boss´ eyes startled the foreman.

Madeleine´s eyes had taken on that look that almost everyone feared. This look that promised that whoever said anything wrong would be the first to feel the wrath of this man, be it justified or not. For a moment the foreman wasn´t sure if his boss didn´t plan to secretly kill this police inspector who had dared to invade his business day with something as unnecessary as a personal introduction. Or rather … to have him killed.

But that was of course ridiculous.

"Shall I take care of him?" Fantine offered but Madeleine shook his head, his eyes never leaving the door to his office.

"No." he said, smiling at last. "This is something I need to do on my own." he handed her his hat and cane, and with that he was gone.

The foreman waited until Madeleine was out of earshot, before he grabbed Fantine by her arm, keeping her from sneaking away too.

"Not so fast." he hissed at her, and he could tell she knew what this was about. "I need to talk to you."

**...**

While beneath him, the foreman dragged Fantine aside, to have a word with her, Madeleine made his way up the stairs. There was a strange calmness that settled over him, more and more, with each step he took. And even though he didn´t know what would await him at the end of those stairs, he knew he couldn´t back off.

His hand casually graced the fabric of his sleeve, down to his left wrist. To the mechanism there, solid and safe. Usually. Unless a certain spot would be triggered, just beneath the cuff. He carried the devise ever since a certain Fauchelevent had once attacked him, all in the open, while his life guards had been out of sight, accusing him of ruining his business.

Thanks God Madeleine had been blessed with more strength than the man had expected, but if he´d been armed, Madeleine would have been less lucky. Because the attack had been unexpected and one swift stab at the right spot of a man´s body would be enough to kill. And Madeleine was not ready to die just yet.

So he had purchased some little devise of security. A life insurance so to say. Because no matter all the precautions a status like his naturally brought along, there were still places and situations where he was not accompanied by anyone of his staff. Where he wouldn´t _want_ to be accompanied by any of them. And exactly in those moments he was vulnerable and open for attacks.

As he had learned painfully on that day. Fauchelevent had landed a direct strike to his cheekbone before Madeleine had managed to fight back and grab him. It had left a bruise for over a week. And Fauchelevent had gone away for at least six months. Physical assault against the mayor. One of the very few occasions when Madeleine had been happy to speak to the police.

But a wake-up call it had been, nonetheless. Up until today Madeleine had not been in a need to actually use the knife and its spring clip. And he thanked God in every of his prayers that he didn´t have to. Being forced to take another man´s life was nothing he looked forward to. It was a sin to kill, and he had erased all sins from his life, a long time ago. The man he´d once been had died, one day on a mountainside, had been buried along with three holy people, and the man that now worked his way over the last tread of the stairs into his office, was not the same man.

He was Madeleine. Mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer.

And as such he would be greeted.

* * *

><p><strong>All right. First step has been taken. And I´m gonna be honest. I have no idea how this story will end. <strong>

**So feel free to share your thoughts with me.**

**And thanks for reading.**


	3. Monsieur le Maire

**Monsieur le Maire**

Madeleine smiled, when he entered his office. It was the polite thing to do, and politeness was what was expected of the mayor. Javert took a formal bow, greeting him with all the respect his title deserved. And oh how easy it was to remember the guard.

Madeleine waited, just long enough before he turned away from Javert, to not expose his face to the man for too long. He also took good care not to address Javert by his name until the inspector had formally introduced himself.

And what an introduction it was. The man had obviously no memory whatsoever of a man he once harassed in Toulon. A man that by now was long gone anyway.

Madeleine forced himself to calm down, and shoved his own memories aside. Javert did not recognize him, and there was a reason for that. Because the man he could have recognized, did not exist anymore. In his place was Madeleine and Madeleine was grand, righteous and privileged. A man of high rank, even above Javert. Very much above him actually.

Madeleine smiled, generously, and offered his guest a seat, pointing at one of the two big armchairs by the fireplace. While Javert took the offered seat, Madeleine did something he usually ordered Fantine to take care of. He put another log into the fire, stirring the well maintained flames to make sure the temperature in the room was comfortable. For some reason he felt colder today than usual. Maybe only since he´d entered the office? Anyway, there was more than enough wood and on a special occasion like this he tented to be even more generous with his comfort and that of his guests.

"Can I offer you something, inspector?" he asked, opening the buttons on his greatcoat. "Wine. Cognac?"

"I´m afraid I´m on duty, sir." Javert answered, and Madeleine changed direction, from his minibar in form of a big wooden globe, to an artfully designed porcelain shell. The gold edge glowed in the warm light of the fire, when he offered it to Javert. "Then maybe some Marzipan." he suggested. "I purchase it directly from Lübeck in Germany. It´s said to be the best on the market."

Javert hesitated, and Madeleine winked at him, encouragingly, before taking one of the tiny round sweets for himself. "Just take one." he said. "They need to be eaten before they get hard. Unfortunately the material, as delicious as it is, only lasts for so long until I have to throw it away. Would be a shame. Have you ever tried Marzipan, inspector?"

"I have, actually." Javert finally took one. "Thank you."

"Always a pleasure to meet a fellow enthusiast of the delicious flavor." Madeleine left the shell on the little mahogany table between the armchairs. "Please, help yourself, inspector."

"Thank you, Monsieur le Maire." Javert replied, but this time it sounded like a polite declination. Good. Generosity was very well, but there was nothing Madeleine hated more than people who took shamelessly advantage of it. Javert did not seem to be one of those.

For a moment he halted, standing before his desk, neat and the smell of freshly applied polish still in the air, and allowed himself to notice, that he had already begun to treat this whole situation as if there was truly, absolutely no danger at all, coming from that man. At what point had estimating Javert´s social behavior become more important than to make sure he wouldn´t realize who he was talking to?

Well, he was talking to Madeleine, of course. Owner of this factory, and mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer. His superior. Who else would Javert be talking to? Who?

"I hope you forgive me, Monsieur le Maire." Javert spoke up behind him, and he turned around, smiling at his guest, expecting him to continue. And he did: "It seems to me we may have met." Javert said and in Madeleine´s head a little alarm bell began to ring.

Be careful now, this bell told him. Never forget that danger follows wherever you go. This is the reason why you have guards following you in the streets and even to church, this is the reason why you carry this knife attached to a spring clip under your sleeve. Not just because the man who once landed a punch at you was inevitably released from prison after serving his sentence. Not just because he´s not the only one with a grudge against you.

Be careful. Be very careful.

Madeleine, mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer, smiled at his new inferior Javert, and shook his head. "My dear inspector. I can assure you, your face is not a face I would have forgotten if we met." And for a moment he rejoiced, at the impact his words had on his interlocutor. But making Javert feel rejected, maybe even bitter at him, was not a good idea. If he wanted to minimize Javert´s threat, he had to catch him first, put him on his leash, so the inspector wouldn´t have any more freedom of movement than he allowed it. Without him noticing of course.

At no time could Javert know that Madeleine was pulling his strings. In order to eliminate every possible suspicions, the man had to believe that he was following by his own decision. He had to believe that following Madeleine was the only thing in this world that he would ever want to do. Because it was right, the only reason that would ever count in Javert´s book. Righteousness. A sentiment Madeleine could actually even relate to.

Following a spontaneous inspiration he asked him: "Is there anything you´d need by any chance, inspector? For the station-house I mean."

Javert lowered his eyes, and got up, as if suddenly the armchair was too uncomfortable for him.

"Well …" he said. "In fact …"

"Yes?" Madeleine inquired.

"I couldn´t help but notice … that some of the station´s horses are growing old. One has a very bad limp even. And another, I was told, suffers from a reoccurring bleed from the nose."

Madeleine reacted with great concern at those news. "I didn´t know that." he stepped closer to the man, only half a step. A subconscious reaction a man would show when confronted with seriously concerning news. A reaction that encouraged Javert, showing that it was wished that he continued and in fact revealed truly all the faults he had noticed.

"I also noticed that the equipment such as saddles, weapons and even the handcuffs haven´t been renewed in at least five years." he said. "It is still sufficient enough but …"

"You don´t need to continue." Madeleine interrupted sharply, startling the inspector. "I get the picture."

For a moment Javert had to believe he´d been silenced, but Madeleine didn´t intent to leave him in the dark for too long. He marched to his desk, to write down a note.

"Don´t worry, I will take care of this deficiency." he assured Javert, and Javert reacted just as expected. He flinched, unnoticeable, but he did. "Monsieur le Maire?"

Madeleine turned back to him, totally serious, his expression the gravest that he could manage.

"I must admit, the police chief and I … we´re not working well together." he revealed to Javert. "These last few years, we barely spoke. Most of his reports get to me in writing. Maybe it´s my fault, I don´t know."

He could see Javert was about to speak, probably to say some unnecessary words of reassurance.

"Even so." he stopped him, before he´d finished inhaling. "As the mayor of this town it is my duty to know such things and it can´t be that I didn´t, until now. I will correct this mistake immediately."

Javert closed his mouth, uncertain how to respond, and simply straightened his back, eyes cast down. And Madeleine decided to give him some rope. He smiled.

"I´d say it was a great luck that you decided to come here today. How else would I have known?"

Javert´s eyes met his, and he could see the surprise in them. Surprise about this sudden unexpected gentle tone, after the mayor had spoken so harsh until now. Madeleine reached out a little more. He´d made an art out of capturing people with gazes. Especially when he spotted a vulnerability. And there was lots of vulnerability in Javert, hidden well beneath this uptight exterior. Enough to work with it and make it play into his hand.

He granted the inferior officer a warm and welcoming smile. The smile of a superior who suddenly noticed for the first time, that the man before him could be an equal, despite the difference in rank. An idea that must be completely impossible for a man like Javert. Born as a Gypsy (the heritage was obvious here even more than it had been in the Bagne) and living from the tiny wage a police inspector was payed, there was no way on earth someone like him could ever dare to hope to be regarded even remotely like an equal by an aristocrat.

But Madeleine could also see the hope, the little glimmer of a wish never quite dared to be dreamed of. A wish to belong. To be better than the scum that littered the streets out there. Valjean could relate to that feeling. And he knew how to use that, to capture Javert, and make him his.

He stepped closer again, crossing the room halfway to Javert, before he stopped, almost casual. "Listen." he started, never breaking eye contact. "I … I always regretted that the cooperation between police and Mairie has been so poor these last few years, due to my inability to connect with the chief."

Again Javert opened his mouth, but Madeleine raised a hand, to stop him.

"I´d like to correct this mistake." he told him. "Maybe you could help me with that."

He saw the blue eyes of the inspector growing more and more insecure. There was fear. A lot of fear from closing in on something that couldn´t be right. A police man could not dare to hope to be treated as an equal. Especially not by him. Madeleine saw all of this in Javert´s eyes, mixed with this oh so omnipotent hope of the man.

"Of course, Monsieur le Maire." he spoke at last, obedient.

Madeleine smiled, benevolently. It was almost amusing to see this man struggle. He nodded, encouraging. "Good." he said, and let Javert off the hook for a moment, by turning his gaze away. "Why don´t you start with writing me a list then." he suggested. "Of all the things that are needed at the station-house. The least I can do as the mayor is to provide our guardians of the law, with the appropriate tools they need, right?"

Javert instantly straightened his back. "Yes, Monsieur le Maire." his tone was proud. To be called a guardian of the law had had the perfect effect on the man. Madeleine smiled.

"Perfect." he said. "Then we´re agreed." He held out his hand, and Javert instantly shifted back, looking at the offered hand in uncertainty. Again Madeleine smiled, allowing himself to even chuckle for a moment.

"It´s all right, Javert." he reassured the inferior. "I´m not the King of France. Just a mayor. One of many, and this town is just a small one in the back country. No need to make me bigger than I am."

For a moment Javert hesitated. He was still intimidated. But Madeleine was a master in capturing people with gazes, and so even the uptight inspector Javert had to give in. He took the hand, carefully and uncertain, but Madeleine squeezed it, confidently.

"To a good partnership." he spoke, and he could watch Javert´s posture change, from uncertain and humble to encouraged and proud.

"Yes, Monsieur le Maire. It is an honor."

This time the smile was real. Javert´s dedication was catching, and in a strangely appealing way flattering. When he looked into his eyes now, remembering the guard that once in his life had harassed a prisoner named Jean Valjean, Madeleine could not help but wonder. Something about this whole setting was strange, totally unreal, but Madeleine pushed it aside, back into the back of his mind. He couldn´t afford to be distracted like that. Not in a crucial moment like this. If he handled this right, he could draw Javert on his side. Keep your friends close but your enemies even closer.

He squeezed the hand of the inspector again, a little more affectionate, and gestured with his head. "It´s really a shame you are on duty." he said. "A moment like this practically asks to be sealed with a good glass."

"I´m very sorry, sir." Javert spoke and Madeleine nodded.

"That´s what I thought." he smiled, still not letting go of Javert´s hand. "But maybe in the evening? When you bring me your list. I´ll be here until sundown at least." he informed him. "If your shift is over, I´d be happy to host you." Again there was this uncertainty in Javert´s eyes, about an offer that seemed too unreal for his mind to deal with it. Madeleine quickly added: "We can talk about the list. And some other business of the future."

This time Javert nodded, strongly. "Yes, Monsieur le Maire."

Again Madeleine smiled. He already began to appreciate this way of hearing his title being spoken.

"Good." he finally released Javert´s hand. "I see you then."

Javert took a formal bow, almost stiff in his movements and retrieved, without a word. So far so good.

**...**

He was barely out the door, when the foreman entered, shifting almost as uncomfortable as Javert had done it earlier.

"Monsieur Madeleine?" he addressed him carefully. "I was given something that I believe you should see."

"What is it?"

The foreman simply handed him a note, for Madeleine to read. "This here was found in Fantine´s bag. She had left it on the bench, just outside and …"

"Who found that?" Madeleine demanded to know.

"One of the workers." the foreman answered, humbly. "She claims it fell out and she picked it up."

Madeleine exhaled, annoyed about the poor lie but read the note anyway. When he was done, he knew why his foreman was so nervous.

"Where´s Fantine now?" he asked.

"Downstairs. I asked her to wait."

Madeleine nodded. "Send her up."

**...**

When she entered, Fantine was quiet, almost like a haunted animal. Her eyes searched him only for a moment, before she cast them down again, afraid. All in all she was the perfect example for a criminal who knew he was guilty. And that alone made Madeleine boil, right from the start. He´d planned to ask her if it was true, if maybe the letter was a fake. But her posture was already more answer than he´d wanted to.

He could see she expected him to ask his question right away. Everything about her practically begged him to, begged for this release. But he wouldn´t give it to her. Not that easily.

Eventually her eyes searched him again, so innocent. "Monsieur le Maire?" she addressed him, when she couldn´t stand his silence any longer. Snap.

He held up the note. "You know what I want to know." he said, nothing more, and threw the note over his desk. It landed perfectly, right at the edge, as if he´d placed it there. Fantine´s eyes fixed on that note as if it was something that could explode any second. He raised his brows at her.

"Care to share?"

The woman visibly shrunk at his question, but didn´t really look as if she intended to answer his question. Instead she shook her head, in this oh so pleading way of hers, and finally he snapped.

"You know I´m disappointed, Fantine." he told her, standing up. "After all the things I did for you." he walked towards her, and she skipped back, to the door. She wouldn´t run out he knew that. Not before he was done with her.

"I gave you a job." he recalled. "And when everyone wanted you out of here, I supported you. I gave you a position, away from these women, a better position with better payment." He didn´t mention the other things he´d offered her, the things she had declined, long before he´d created the new position for her "And all I ask in return is loyalty. Honesty, Fantine."

"I know." she whispered, barely audible.

"You know?" he shouted back at her. "Do you? Then what is this?" he snatched the noted from his desk, to hold it under her nose. "What is this?" he repeated his question, more demanding now. "Why don´t I know any of this?"

"I didn´t think my personal matters would be of interest for the factory, monsieur."

Madeleine almost laughed at her. "You didn´t think?" he repeated, turning away from her. "Well that is interesting." he made a few steps before turning back. "I´ll tell you something, Fantine. I am the owner of this factory. I decide what is of interest for this business, because I am the one who´s paying you."

The woman lowered her head even more, sobbing quietly. But she didn´t skip back. Defiant little bitch.

"Is there anyone else I pay for that I should know about?"

She instantly glanced up, so scared, and shook her head, viciously. "No." she breathed. "Please, monsieur." she inched a little closer, but only one step. That´s when she noticed she was daring too much already. "Please." she repeated. "Yes, it´s true, there is a child. My daughter. But the father abandoned us, without looking back. He doesn´t care for me or the child, I had to raise her alone. When I realized that I couldn´t, I left her with an Inkeeper and his wife, to come here to the city. I send them money for the child but that is all. Please, monsieur. All I want is to provide my daughter with a better life. I did nothing wrong, please."

For a moment her eyes were fixed on his. Open and unafraid. But his gaze remained cold and unyielding, so she skipped back again, and cast down her eyes. Madeleine was trying to think.

"So it is money you need, is it that?" he asked, and Fantine again shook her head, silently begging. God how he hated it when she shook her head like that. Didn´t she know she only had to ask? How often did he offer it to her? How often?

"I could take care of the child." he spoke, startling her. "And of you." he was at her before he even knew it himself, cupping her cheek, almost desperately. "If you´d only allow me at last …" He aimed for her cheek with his kiss, and her neck, so soft, just like her hair. But she flinched back, a hand striking out, much faster than he expected, and the sound of the impact was much louder in his office than it should be possible.

For a moment he was stunned. But only for a moment.

The fear was so clear in her eyes. As if she really didn´t know why she´d done this. Madeleine was boiling.

"All right." he nodded, almost snarling. "You think you don´t need to? All right." he threw the note at her, and she flinched, instinctively trying to catch it. "Foreman!" he called and shoved her to the door.

"No!" she began to realize her mistake, when he shoved her into the hands of his guards.

"Get her out of here." he ordered, skillfully ignoring her pleas. Should she see how far she came without his generosity. Her shouts echoed through the whole factory. But only for a minute. Who was this woman to refuse anything he offered her?

* * *

><p><strong>If you want to tell me your opinion, don´t hold back. Every suggestion could change the course of this story, since I´m still in the process of developing it.<strong>


	4. An act of Mercy

**An act of Mercy**

The inspector came back long before sundown. A very efficient man. He had all the items his station-house needed neatly listed, even sorted by the alphabet. Madeleine was impressed and he said so. The inspector´s reaction, as subtle as it was, taught him right there and then, to make a habit out of praising like this. A man had to be trained by positive acknowledgment, to support the right behavior, and in this case, to teach him who his friend was.

But it was a delicate ballet. Javert was clever. And even more so, honorable. He would never take anything as simple as bribing. Which meant Madeleine had to bind him to him in a much more delicate way. A way that not even the great inspector Javert would be able to resist.

He made his first step in that direction by noticing how incomplete Javert´s list was. The inspector had named the most important items: eight horses, saddles and a collection of tools and weapons that badly needed to be replaced. What he´d left out were accessories of uniforms and some other secondary items. When the mayor addressed his assumption, Javert instantly reacted with reluctant suspicion. Thin ice, as suspected. But Madeleine figured he could walk it, if he did it right.

"I told you, it´s my fault that these things were handled badly in the past." he said. "Earlier today I felt you believed me when I said I want to correct this mistake."

"I do, Monsieur le Maire …" Javert assured him.

"Then allow me to really stay true to my word. Be honest with me, and name everything, and I mean truly everything that you need." he handed him back the list for emphasis. "I don´t promise you I´ll be able to get them for you right away, the budget is bound and limited as you know. But I´ll see what I can do in time. Bit by bit. But I can only do so, if I know everything."

At last Javert was convinced. He straightened his back, eyes almost proud and took back the list. "Yes, Monsieur le Maire."

Madeleine allowed him to work on his second desk, while he´d finish his own business of the day.

"You have to excuse the inconvenience." he apologized. "But I´m afraid you´ll have to write it yourself."

"I am literate, Monsieur." Javert frowned irritated, and Madeleine laughed, quickly shaking his head.

"I … I´m sorry, that´s not what I meant. Of course you are, it is just …" he went behind his own desk to fetch the ink and a pen for Javert. "I was talking about …" he had to look through several drawers before he finally found the wanted tools. "This." he held it up for a moment. "I was talking about this." he placed the tools on the desk, for Javert to use it. "I´m short on an assistant right now I´m afraid. She used to maintain the order at my desk. It seems I wasn´t aware how much I´d given this into her care."

"What happened to her?" Javert asked, curios, as Madeleine took his seat behind his own desk again.

"I had to fire her." he answered, not looking up. "It´ll take me some time, to find my way through her order … and find a new … assistant to replace her."

For a moment it was quiet, and when Madeleine looked up, he met the inspector´s gaze, still on him. Worried? What for?

He gave him a smile. "Please, inspector. Carry on." he asked him. And of course Javert complied.

For approximately half an hour they worked in silence, each of them busy with their own paperwork, which in Madeleine´s case consisted in a lot of searching drawers for files and notes, which were stored in a three category system. Damn you, Fantine. What was it with women and their alternative storing systems? And how was it that it made sense while she´d been around, and now suddenly it didn´t?

He was almost glad when Javert presented him the finished, and now truly complete list. It was much more pleasant to discuss _this_ matter and leave the desk and its confusing system out of the picture for a while.

They spent an hour planning the budget of the next few months. Javert was more than eager to provide the mayor with insight and inform him about the priorities, about which items should be renewed first and which of them were still convenient enough to last until the money was there. When they were done they were confident that within three months of time, the police of Montreuil-sur-Mer could be as perfectly equipped as one could ask for.

"I would call that a perfect plan." Madeleine commented, facing his new partner. "You have quite some talent in financial matters as it seems. Well done, inspector."

Javert made a movement with his head that was probably the closest to a blush this man would ever perform.

"Thank you, Monsieur le Maire." he said. "It´s more like a talent in reasonable planning I guess. In my opinion an inspector of the law should know how the system he protects works, economically and politically."

Madeleine nodded, acknowledging this admittedly unexpected detail about the inspector. "A man of many talents." he praised, storing this fact away in his mind, for later examination. Javert was much smarter than he´d believed. A dangerous man indeed. Resourceful. And useful.

"Well." he said. "I´m glad to have you in my town. I need men as good as you are."

This time it was truly a blush, but if Madeleine had to take a guess, Javert was less uncomfortable now, than he had been before. Good. Very good.

Before he could think of anything more to say, a noise from outside drew both of their attention. Usually no reason for him to abandon his meeting, but when he heard his name being called, he had no choice but to get outside after all. How important could it be anyway?

It was disgusting to walk on the muddy ground. If he´d had a choice he would have rather send one of his guards to take care of whatever business was to be handled back in this allay. But people were crying _his_ name and he had learned, early in his career that a man of high rank, only kept his high rank if he kept his reputation. And unfortunately his reputation was that of the benefactor of the town. Which meant he had to show concern, whenever something happened that had influence on his citizens. The one way or the other. This influence though was easily identified, even to a blind man.

"The weight." his foreman cried, after having tested to move the broken cart off the trapped man beneath. "It´s crushing him."

Some other people standing about had already tested the weight just the same. Without success. Madeleine could see the outcome of this before his inner eye. There was a man who would not live to see the next day. A man who´d die a more than painful death underneath this monster of a wagon. A man that only by coincidence had once bruised his mayor´s cheekbone. Madeleine couldn´t help but feel reassured in a higher system of retribution, seeing this.

All around women were already shaking their heads in horror. No one wanted to see this poor man die, but no one dared to simply turn away and leave him for death either. It would be immoral to do that. But dear God, who would be able to stand by and watch while a man slowly died in unimaginable pain? None of these poor souls gathered in the allay knew how to act on this predicament. Leave and be damned for it, or watch and carry this terrible memory for the rest of their lives?

Madeleine needed merely a minute to assess the situation. And he knew the answer.

"Has everyone tried to lift this thing?" he asked. "You!" he addressed a strong looking man, but the man stepped back. Of course.

Madeleine made an effort to inhale. "What about a hoist?"

He only got told that someone was already trying to organize one. It wouldn´t be there in time. Just as expected.

"Inspector." Madeleine turned to Javert, the gravest frown between his brows, and the inspector glanced right back at him, just as dark. He knew Madeleine would ask something from him, and the mayor was sure a man as dedicated as Javert, would do everything in his power to try and obey the given order. Even if he thought it impossible to succeed.

Madeleine inhaled once more, and spoke.

"Is your pistol loaded, inspector?"

Javert blinked, startled. "Yes, monsieur."

Madeleine nodded, and glanced back at the cart, only for a moment before he closed his eyes, to silently ask God for forgiveness. The decision he had to make was not easy. But it was the right one to make.

"This man will suffer." he spoke, quietly, but loud enough for everyone in a radius of five meters to hear. "There´s no way to save him. He´ll be dead until the hoist is here but … until then he´ll be in pain." he closed his eyes, yet again. "It would be inhuman to …"

"I understand, Monsieur le Maire." Javert´s voice was low as well, and when Madeleine met his gaze he saw that he had spoken true. He did understand.

The mayor nodded. "Do it." he ordered, and everyone who was present in this moment, everyone who witnessed the mayor give this order, would later on testify how much guilt and pain they had seen in Madeleine´s eyes, when he had to give an order like this.

Javert took his pistol, steadily and walked over to the man under the cart. When he aimed his gun at the man´s head, old Fauchelevent met the inspector´s eyes. There was pain, and fear, and despair about his own inevitable end. But after a moment, not longer than a few heartbeats, the man settled down, stopped fighting against the weight that slowly crushed his body, and nodded, in final acceptance.

Javert waited until the man had closed his eyes. When his lips stopped moving, after having spoke a last silent prayer, Javert pulled the trigger.

**...**

After that incident, Javert finally accepted the cognac Madeleine offered him. He took the glass the mayor filled for him, and took a cautious sip. His hand was shaking. Next to him, Madeleine filled a glass of his own and swallowed almost all of it in one gulp. His eyes were in the distance, dark and gloomy. And for a moment Javert could see the face of the dead man again, filthy with mud and distorted in pain.

The shot still seemed to echo in his mind.

"You did the right thing, inspector." Madeleine´s voice woke him up again and he opened his eyes. He hadn´t even noticed that he had closed them.

He met the gaze of the mayor, tired, tensed, and yet so much more compassionate than he could remember to have ever seen it on any of his superiors. Madeleine looked like a soldier, a general after the battle was over. Only Javert wasn´t sure if this battle had been lost or won.

"Yes, Monsieur le Maire." he managed, but his voice was hoarse, partly from the alcohol but mostly from the experience.

Madeleine nodded. Once. "This man would have died in any case." he spoke, turning to face the room before him. "But slowly. Painfully." It didn´t sound as if he spoke to Javert. "There was no way to save him. You spared him unnecessary suffering. You did the right thing, Javert." The mayor stopped to take a shaky breath. "You did the right thing."

Javert lowered his gaze. "Yes, Monsieur le Maire."

Madeleine turned back to face him. And there was something desperate in his eyes. "I ordered you to do it." he spoke, and he spoke it like a confession. As if he was really asking for Javert´s forgiveness.

Javert met his gaze right on. "But I pulled the trigger." he replied, strangely calm.

Madeleine shook his head, regretfully. "I´m so sorry I had to ask this from you." he said. "I had no right to do this."

"Yes." Javert objected. "You had. You are my superior."

"That´s no reason to …"

"Monsieur le Maire." Javert interrupted him, stronger this time. He put down his glass, in order to face the mayor right on with no distracting element between them. "This man would have died." he repeated what Madeleine already said. "Slowly. And in pain. I´ve seen it in his eyes." for a moment he could see it again, but he willed the image away in order to focus on the mayor´s eyes. "You did the right thing." he told him.

Only the mayor didn´t look convinced. "Did I?" he asked, gulping, and something in Javert wanted to reach out, and comfort this man.

"Monsieur le Maire." he put as much strength into his words and posture as he could in this moment. "There was only one right decision to make and you made it. And if you´d ask the same thing from me again, I´d do it again."

Madeleine only nodded, stiff despite the warmth of the room. "Thank you, Javert." he wiped his hand over his face, stepping away, as if thinking. For a while he just stood there, his back to Javert, eyes on who knew what. And Javert waited, until eventually Madeleine turned back to him. His gaze was still exhausted, but something was still different. Javert could not name it but it was.

"What will your report say?" he inquired.

"Exactly what happened." Javert answered, not needing to speak out that exactly what happened meant, exactly what they just spoke about. And of course Madeleine understood.

"Thank you." he said again. Nothing more. They were agreed.

* * *

><p><strong>Don´t forget you can still tell me what you think. I´m always open for suggestions.<strong>


	5. A loyal Servant

**A loyal Servant**

Javert kept his eyes open. While everyone else in the church had bowed their heads and prayed along with the priest, Javert would not let his guard down. From his position in the side aisle he had a perfect view over all the praying people. Including the mayor and his staff, seated exclusively in the first row only a few strides away from Javert. If anything should happen he could be by the mayor´s side in a matter of seconds.

His men, unobtrusively scattered among the other people who attempted the mass standing, would know what to do just as well, trained to take orders from him through the tiniest gestures or gazes. Three months of intensive training had worked wonders among the discipline of Montreuil´s armed forces. Appropriate considering their first duty.

Javert´s eyes grazed the mayor once again. He was still deep in prayer. And that alone made him vulnerable for attacks, despite the presence of his personal guards. Javert had watched them. They were disciplined, and strong. But they were still only civilians. And they lacked the resources of the police.

The mayor had ensured that his men were properly equipped, all without asking any form of service in return, even refusing it when it was offered by the chief. The least Javert could do,was to use this equipment to ensure the safety of the town leader. And that´s what he did. At all times.

The only moments when he allowed himself not to look like an eagle, was when the priest announced God´s blessing among all present on this Sunday. There Javert lowered his head, crossing himself, but only for a moment.

It wasn´t as if there was any danger around today. Everyone he saw seemed entirely peaceful, only interested in the mayor the way lower people should be: with awe and envy. Because envy was allowed. What was not allowed was grudge. Because it indicated a possible danger. As soon as Javert would spot someone giving the mayor a gaze like that, he´d commit this person´s face to his memory, in order to check on them, make sure they wouldn´t try anything someday. When it came to the safety of the mayor, Javert could never be too careful.

It was his duty. The police was to protect the citizens. And the mayor was the first citizen of every town. Javert would not fail in his duty. Not ever.

The mass ended with everyone stepping forward to the priest, to receive God´s blessing from his hand, the bread and the wine. Javert joined the line after checking his men one last time, making sure they´d keep their eyes open while he was distracted. After that he took his place in the line, right behind the mayor. One of the many unspoken – but this way even more powerful – privileges he was granted under this man, and Javert knew how to value this.

He was still a Gypsy by heritage and the mayor knew this. Everyone knew. But Madeleine was also a man who appreciated another man for his accomplishments, regardless of his heritage. For they were all only dust before the Lord and to dust they all would return. The only difference they could make was by their own hard work. Work that Javert had accomplished.

And he would keep doing so, to serve the first and only man in this world, who had ever looked him in the eye and addressed the matter of his heritage without any disguised and well hidden loathing in his voice. Who only asked from him his absolute loyalty for being treated the way he was. Not as an equal but as close to that as it was humanly possible.

Javert was proud to serve the mayor. That day in the allay behind the factory, when he had followed the mayor´s order, had forever defined their relationship. Javert would follow Madeleine to the death if necessary, would even prefer his own death over his, as it was his duty. And the mayor would protect Javert from every prejudice that would otherwise keep him from getting the just rewards that he deserved in life. It was a neat arrangement. It was righteous. It was just.

When the mass ended he accompanied the mayor outside. The carriage was parked right before the gate, but as short as the way was, it could be fatal if they forgot about the always possible danger. Javert walking by the mayor´s side was only to demonstrate his permanent protection, to all the outsiders who might doubt this fact. This way every attempt, even the mere thought of an attack on the mayor, would be nipped in the bud.

"It was a beautiful mass." Madame Archambault, a rich widow cooed, as they passed her and her daughters.

The old woman was still trying to get Madeleine interested in one of her daughters Javert knew. And again she reacted with this silly wide grin, when the mayor simply agreed with her and moved on with nothing more than a polite smile.

Javert walked with his mayor until they reached the carriage.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked him, and Javert straightened.

"Of course, Monsieur le Maire. Point five o´clock. As always."

Madeleine gave him a smile, a little less polite than the one he´d given that old widow. "Good. Have a nice Sunday."

"Yes, Monsieur le Maire. You too."

And with that he watched Madeleine and his staff enter the fiacre and drive away. Javert´s duty here was done. Tomorrow he would go back to work, and in the evening he´d meet the man again. For report, for a glass of wine and a few words, maybe a game of chess on the new ivory chessboard the mayor had purchased from Paris last month.

During those games they were truly equal, intellectually and mentally. And even though this would never change anything about their social inequality, Javert did not mind a bit. He did no longer desire to be equal with his superior. In a world where dogs ate dogs, there could only be following or leading. And Madeleine was naturally placed in the position to be his leader. It was the natural order of things. It was nothing but just.

The dog at last had found his master. And in that Javert was happy.

**...**

Night had settled down over Montreuil-sur-Mer. It was too early yet, for the lights in the windows to go out, way too early. But for everyone who lived under the sky, with no roof over their heads, and no candles or oil lamps to brighten their view, the days were getting shorter and shorter now.

Temperatures had dropped rapidly lately. In the mornings there was a fine layer of ice on the grass and on the puddles in the streets. Soon people who lay down in the evening for sleep, would stay on the ground in the mornings, only to be discarded anonymously like garbage, to clear the streets of decay. It had already happened. A few very old and very sick. They never needed the winter to fully break out, in order to succumb to their weakness. It was awful. It was inevitable. And it was everywhere.

Fantine drew the thin gray cloth closer around her shoulders, hesitating just behind the corner. She would have expected it to be harder, to throw the pride over board at last. To knock on the door of the man who had chased her away knowing very well that she´d be lost without a job.

And hadn´t that been true? She was a wreck, barely able to keep on her feet. No it wasn´t hard at all, to abandon her pride and self respect. There was no self respect left to be protected. The man who opened the door, was well dressed, in black jacket, west and cravat, like all the guards in Madeleine´s service. And he looked down on her with a disgusted frown.

Fantine knew him. His name was Thomás. One of the mayor´s most loyal guards. She had known him for over a year. But obviously these last three months had not been kind to her, because he didn´t seem to recognize her.

"Bonsoir." she said, voice rough and quivering. "I … I´d like to see Monsieur Madeleine, please."

The frown on the man´s face deepened.

"Please, Thomás." she could see his reaction to the fact that a street rat knew his name. "Tell him Fantine wants to speak with him."

"Fantine?" he looked at her more closely, in disbelieve. But eventually he recognized her. And not for the best.

**...**

Madeleine groaned, rubbing his forehead over these last few lines he´d written. Who would have thought a letter to express gratitude for a deal well gone, would be that hard to formulate? These Germans were usually easy to deal with, but when it came to wordings, they could be picky.

He gave up and crumbled the paper, frustrated, and threw it into the little oven that warmed his bedroom.

"Sir?" a voice interrupted his grim process and he turned around.

"What?"

"There´s someone who asks for an audience." Thomás told him. And with a little more gravity in his tone, he added: "It´s Fantine, sir."

Madeleine was stunned. He took off his reading glasses, to see Thomás´ face clear.

"Fantine?"

The man in the door nodded. He didn´t seem to be joking. He was long enough with Madeleine to be one of the very few who´d get away with a witty remark, but he was also with him long enough to know where to draw the line. Making jokes about this woman was something no one would have dared, not while Madeleine could hear it and especially not to his face.

The mayor put down his glasses, determined to have a look at this himself. At the door he got stopped though, by a cautious gesture of his guard.

"Just one more thing, sir." the man seemed uncertain. "I think you should know this. She … she doesn´t look good."

Madeleine studied his man for a moment. What he saw made him understand most of the matter – Thomás looked disgusted, even now – but not all of it. In order to do so, he had to see for himself.

"Thank you, Thomás." he gave his man a nod, and at last made his way downstairs. He braced himself for the worst.

**...**

It was a strange thing to stand in this place. This huge living room, so warm from the fire, so cozy and full of everything a wealthy gentleman needed to live comfortable and up to his standards. The couch was just as she remembered it, rich and soft, and inviting. She had sat on it so many times, but now she didn´t even dare to come close to it. This whole place, once familiar, had become forbidden land to her – the lost and broken.

"Fantine?" the voice of the man she´d used to work for dragged her out of her daze, and she swirled around, heart pounding, as if he´d caught her doing something forbidden. And in some way this was even true. What else was she doing here?

His eyes on her were still the same, but so much colder than she remembered it. At least when they´d been on her. He regarded her with something that couldn´t be described with any other word but shock, and disgust.

"Dear God." she heard him whisper.

She didn´t give a response, did not say a word. What was there to say? Nothing she could say would make her appearance seem any less pitiful. Her hands, fingertips melted to the bone, nervously reached for her skinny neck, trying to stroke through her hair like she´d used to do it when she was nervous. But there was no hair anymore. It was gone, like everything else about her.

Eventually he overcame his shock and entered the room, still eying her with this repulsed gaze. God, Fantine had never believed in her life that this coldness of his, could ever be directed at her. People in the street, sure. But her? Impossible. But it happened. Right now.

For a moment he took his eyes off her. "Leave us." he ordered the guard, and the man left the room without a word. Madeleine´s next words were directed at her.

"What do you want?" he asked and Fantine felt her courage sink. What did she want? A good question. A question that could be answered as easy as in saying: _I want you to save me from certain death_. Or very complicated as in not knowing where to even begin. Fantine chose the middle way.

"I … came to … apologize." she ignored his raised brows and lowered her gaze. "I … was wrong. I overreacted and … did not properly thank you … for all the things you´ve done for me. That was rude and … just wrong. I hope you can forgive me."

At last she dared to look back up, meeting his gaze again. One of his brows was still arced, waiting.

"And?" he inquired, making her entire speech completely ridiculous just by that. Fantine flinched, inwardly.

"And I …" she shifted, rubbing her way too skinny elbows. "I hoped … maybe you could … consider giving me my job back."

By the end of her sentence she´d given up on any sort of dignity that might be left inside of her. A request like that was way beyond dignity. It was desperation, nothing more. And he knew that as well as she did.

He laughed out at her. "Are you serious?"

She didn´t answer, and his smile was gone.

"You vanish for _months_ without a word." he shouted, accusingly. "I have no idea where you are or what you´re doing. And now that winter starts and it is getting cold outside, you come crawling back to my door, begging to be let back in. Have you any idea how pathetic that is?"

"YES!" she spat out the word, unable to take this any longer.

It worked to dull his outburst, but Fantine knew, the moment she said it, that it was a bad idea to blame him for anything that had happened. For he wouldn´t take any blame. She would.

He chuckled, yet again, cold and merciless. "I see."

Fantine could not look away. Please, she begged in her mind. Please, have mercy. Because if you don´t my way will lead me back outside, away from this place and into a future that could only end in my death. Sooner rather than later. Oh dear God, how could I ever end up like this?

His eyes. They were so cold. So penetrating, and ruthless, when he walked around her, regarding her like a man would regard a worthless cow some butcher tried to sell him.

"And what would you have me do?" he asked her, not really interested in her answer. "You really think I just waited for you to finally decide you want to come back here? That I will gladly welcome you back just because you suddenly feel like snapping your finger?" He snapped _his_ fingers right before her face, and she flinched back, hunching down in shame and self loathing. "Is it that?" he shouted at her. "Who do you think you are?"

"No one." she answered, trying to muffle her sob. "I am no one."

"Exactly." he agreed. "Finally an honest word."

"But I have a daughter, and I need to take care of her." she went on. Madeleine turned back around, to face her. If that was even possible his eyes were even colder now.

"What´s that to me?" he asked.

Fantine lowered her eyes. "Nothing." she repeated, much quieter now. "I know I have nothing to offer. I know." her tears were beginning to betray her. No matter how hard she wished to be able to control it, there was nothing she could do. "I just hoped I could get another chance."

She didn´t look up anymore. There was nothing else she could say. If he would throw her out now, it would make no difference if she´d beg, cry or shout on top of her lungs. It hadn´t made a difference that day when he´d fired her either. And just knowing that, already bracing herself for the inevitable answer, broke her insides apart, way beyond recognition. This was the end. Her last hope. And she had nothing left.

"What do you expect of me?" he asked, waking her up from her despair.

There was something different in his voice. It was still hard but there was a real question beneath that. As if he really asked her, what he was supposed to do now. With her.

"I already replaced you." he told her before she could think of anything to say. "Did you think I´d leave the position vacant, just in case you might one day decide you want to come back to me?"

Again, the knife stabbed into her heart. "No." she answered. She hadn´t. Of course she hadn´t.

He shrugged, very quickly, as if to say: See? "So what do you expect me to do?" he repeated his question. "Fire this woman, to put you back in place? You can´t be serious."

"No." a thick tear dropped out of her eyes, obvious for him to see. "But I …" she didn´t know how to go on.

It was just too humiliating, too excruciating to speak out the words that were on her mind. As soon as she said them, there would be no pride left in her, not a single inch. But she had no choice. It was either that or death on the streets.

"I´d do anything." she breathed, almost too quiet for him to hear. "I could be a … housekeeper. I don´t know."

"A housekeeper?" he wouldn´t let her speak about this in a quiet, unobtrusive way.

He stepped closer, demanding this to be said out loud. Demanding from her to fully expose herself to her misery and to look him in the eyes while she crawled under his boot.

"A housekeeper?"

"I could do dishes." she forced herself to go on. "I could clean up. I …"

"I have a housekeeper." he reminded her. "Two of them."

Of course. He simply had to remind her of the fact that there was no way for her to fill out a position that wasn´t already filled. That there was nothing she could offer, what no one else had already offered him. He was a man of wealth and fortune. He didn´t need anything a pathetic street rat like her could ever give. And yet …

"You wanted me once." she spoke, eyes so deep on the ground like never before, while _his_ eyes bored down on her, into her skull. She could have sworn she felt the heat on the back of her head. "You offered me … you said you trusted me. That I had potential. Those were your words."

There was a long heavy silence before he replied: "That was a long time ago. And you were the one who refused me."

"I know." she sobbed, nodding. "I know, I was … arrogant … and stupid. I don´t know what I was thinking."

There was a grimness in his voice when he replied: "I think, I do."

She shook her head. Please, no. She was losing him again. He was moving away from her.

"I could be what you saw in me." she promised. "I could be better. You know I can. I learned once. I could learn again."

His eyes moved her up and down, once, and there was nothing left of the affection she´d once seen, when he´d used to look at her like that. Now all she could see was disgust and repulsion.

"I doubt it." was all he said.

"Please." she sobbed, losing the battle against her pain. "Please, Monsieur. My daughter dies if I don´t find a way to pay for her. Please. If I go back out there, I´ll lose. And if I die … I just can´t leave her like that."

Something happened in his eyes, something she couldn´t name. But it was closer to the human emotion called compassion than she knew this man capable of. Which was exactly the reason why for a moment she believed she only imagined it.

Or did she? Did she touch something after all? Oh please, dear God. All she needed was a chance. She´d do anything. Anything at all. And that was what she said now. Openly and almost unashamed. She could not afford to hold back due to shame.

The disgust was still there in his eyes, but so was this other something, when she reached out for his vest, begging like a bitch. He moved his head back, wrinkling his nose, probably against the smell that stuck to her ever since she lived this life among the other plebs on the street. Even _she_ was aware of that smell.

He turned away from her, almost casually to walk some steps through the room. At the fireplace he stopped, glancing over the mantelpiece, the sculptures and vases, lined up there. And Fantine didn´t speak, did not interrupt his thinking.

Eventually he turned back to her, his frown so deep, almost as deep as the disgust in his eyes.

"Do you know how to draw a bath?" he asked her. And she nodded, eagerly. He nodded too, still thinking. "Pour a bath." he then ordered. "Clean yourself. Show me that you can still be a decent human being. Then we´ll see."

Fantine nodded. Yes. Yes, she would obey. Whatever he wanted.

"Marianne will help you carry the water." he decided. "Only for today."

Fantine did nothing but nod. Of course. Whatever he said.


	6. First Duty

**First Duty**

It was halfway through the day, almost lunchtime, and Madeleine was getting ready to have his meal served. When it knocked on the door, he expected his assistant – the third one he´d hired, after two had proven unsatisfying to replace Fantine, and even this one was only half what he wanted from a personal assistant – but it was Javert who entered his office, not the girl. Madeleine blinked.

"Inspector. It´s a little early for your report. Is something wrong?"

"If you allow me, Monsieur." Javert glanced sideways, unobtrusively, and Madeleine understood.

"By all means, speak freely."

Javert straightened, covering up his disappointment that Madeleine did not send the guard away, just because his inspector obviously believed he could start to exchange secret messages through gazes. Madeleine was the mayor – his superior – not one of his men. Maybe Javert needed to be reminded of this fact. Just because he´d been granted some privileges, did not mean he could suggest-order Madeleine into doing what he wanted from him.

Javert cleared his throat. "One of my Lieutenants noticed a strange woman last night." he spoke, eyes straight ahead, not on Madeleine. "A beggar most likely, maybe a prostitute. She went to your door and was granted in by one of your men."

For a moment Madeleine was speechless. Behind Javert Thomás´ frowned at the inspector, alarmed. Now the mayor understood Javert´s gaze from before.

"Thomás would you please give us a moment?" he asked.

The man left without a word, but his gaze lingered on Javert, suspiciously, until he closed the door behind himself. Javert´s gaze grazed Madeleine, but only to check, and jumped away from him again a moment later. The man´s back was so erect as if he expected to be sentenced. Maybe he did.

"You put my house under surveillance?" Madeleine asked.

"The quarter, Monsieur." came the immediate answer.

Madeleine narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Security."

Again the answer came promptly, no hesitation at all. As if Javert had prepared it. And by all means and purposes this was what Madeleine should suspect. Only Javert did not look as if he did. He didn´t look as if he´d even expected to be asked such questions. Madeleine massaged his chin.

"Please forgive me." Javert spoke. "I know you have guards around you inside your house. But it should be taken care of that also the perimeter is secure. Just in case someone tries to get to you. You have lots of enemies."

"I´m well aware of that." Madeleine snapped.

"That´s why I made it my responsibility to assure a safe police presence in the streets near your house, sir." Javert explained, not in the slightest irritated by his tone. "I apologize if that isn´t to your liking, but I´m convinced that it is imminent. It is after all, my first duty to protect the mayor."

"Is it." Madeleine was frowning deeply. He didn´t know what to say.

"And obviously it was a good thing that I did so." Javert simply continued. "Or otherwise Lieutenant Beaudin had never seen this whore coming to your door at night."

Madeleine had not noticed how tensed his own body was until now. He cleared his throat.

"Well, actually in this case, I would have preferred it that way."

He didn´t realize what his words had caused until he saw Javert´s pale face. The inspector was blinking, uncomfortably.

"I … I´m sorry, Monsieur." he stammered. "I … I didn´t think … I mean …"

"Oh!" Madeleine suddenly realized his mistake. "No. Dear God. That´s not what I meant, I …"

Before him Javert seemed to calm down a bit, but his expression was still one of great confusion. Madeleine shifted in his seat.

"It wasn´t a whore, Javert." he explained reluctantly. "It was Fantine."

The inspector frowned. "Your former employee?"

"My former assistant." Madeleine corrected. "Yes. She asked to see me."

"What did she want?"

"Well, what do you think?" Madeleine suddenly couldn´t stand it to remain seated any longer. "She asked me to be hired again." he began walking, just for the sake of movement. "After all this time she just shows up at my door again, and asks me to be reinstated. Just like this."

He stopped in front of his fireplace, regarding the artful contents of his mantelpiece, just like he´d done it last night when talking to Fantine. A bronze statue of a naked Greek goddess became his focus. As if he needed a fix point in the room, one that was not anywhere near Javert.

"So you sent her on her way?" Javert asked at last, and Madeleine glanced at him, over his shoulder. He didn´t say a word. But Javert didn´t seem to need one.

"You didn´t." he realized, and Madeleine flinched inwardly. Javert obviously saw it on his face. He lowered his gaze and took a step back.

Madeleine shook his head, cursing now, and turned aside.

"She looked awful, Javert." he told the other man, not really sure why. "Pathetic." Again he found the Greek bronze goddess. "You should have seen her."

"I figured." Javert offered. "Since Lieutenant Beaudin believed her to be a beggar."

"He might even be right with that." Madeleine laughed dryly, shaking his head. "What else would she do? I mean … after she left. Without a job, and no one to turn to. Of course that´s what she´d become …"

He could feel the other man´s eyes on him, regarding him closely, but somehow couldn´t bring himself to look back at him. This whole situation was just ridiculous.

"So you reinstated her?" Javert asked him, all of a sudden.

Now Madeleine did look at him. "I didn´t say that. What makes you think I did?"

"Your gaze, sir." Javert answered, and Madeleine frowned, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Exposed.

"Am I that easy to read?"

"Only to me, sir." Javert seriously sounded apologetic.

"A man of many talents." Madeleine used the familiar praise without thinking and Javert tilted his head, just a bit.

"I do have a talent to see through people´s masks." he admitted, merely stating a fact. "Better than most I found."

"I assume that´s supposed to ease me now." Madeleine didn´t mumble but it was a very near thing.

"Where is she now?" Javert inquired.

"At my home. I allowed her to stay for the night and clean herself up."

"Is someone there to watch her?"

Madeleine nodded, not the slightest confused by the question. "My housekeepers." he calmed Javert´s concerns. "Don´t worry, the rooms that harbor something of value are locked." He smirked at the inspector´s expression, only for a moment. "But I don´t think she came to steal anything." he resumed his musing. "She must know we´d find her in no time."

"We would." Javert instantly assured him, and Madeleine had no doubt that this was true.

He nodded at him, smiling. "No." he said. "I think she really came back to …" he stopped short before the sentence was finished.

"To?" Javert inquired, making him pick up his pace.

"To apologize." he finished the sentence at last. "That´s what she said. That she regretted her behavior towards me and that she wants to do better."

The snort coming from Javert was not unexpected, and to a point Madeleine could relate to that reaction. He barely believed it himself.

"Do you believe her?" Javert could have said just as well: You can´t be serious.

"We´ll see." Madeleine replied, grimly. "I gave her a chance to prove herself to me. When I get home tonight I´ll have to see if she´s worth it."

After a moment he met Javert´s gaze again. The man once again, studied him in silence. Eventually he said: "I believe you´ll have a good reason."  
>Madeleine felt an emotion stir inside of him. And the emotion was pride. "I do. Javert." he insisted, no argument allowed. "I do."<p>

The police man straightened. "I understand, sir." he said, wisely staying out of what was not his business. "But … If you need any help at all …"

"Don´t worry." Madeleine stopped him, smiling again. "I know now that you have me well guarded."

**...**

It was a strange feeling. Like wearing a new skin that wasn´t hers. The housekeeper´s dress was too wide around her skinny frame. The cotton heavy and foreign, as if her body had already forgotten how it felt to be warm and protected by so much fabric. How long, she wondered? How long would she be allowed to wear it? Would she wear this every day from now on? Or would she have to give it back right at the end of this day, after Madeleine had inspected her and found her not good enough after all?

It was possible. Everything was possible. Everything and nothing.

The bets were off and her life, literally, lay in the hands of the man she still considered an epitome of ruthlessness.

When he came home, she was ready. Even though she knew she´d never be ready for him, no matter what she did. It was just impossible to prepare yourself for an inspection by that man. And yet she stood absolutely still, cast her eyes down as his gaze met hers, and silently waited for his judgment.

"All right." she heard him say, and then there were only his steps, as he rounded her. "Out." he ordered and Fantine flinched. The sounds of footsteps leaving the room made her realize he´d been talking to his guards. Of course. He wanted to have her all alone.

She could feel him regarding her, gaze wandering over her whole frame, up and down, scrutinizing her, as if his gaze alone could peel her out of that worker´s dress that wasn´t hers, out of her own skin, until he reached her very insides, and all the hidden secrets down there. When he was done with her, there would be nothing left that she could call her own. No pride, no integrity, no self respect. Maybe he would even take away her very own name, deciding to only call her by her new status from now on: Servant. Maybe even a number.

She knew him capable of such cruelty. Oh yes, she knew he would do such a thing. And if it was only to show who was in charge. To let her feel his power that he held over her. As if she´d need that anymore.

But that was what she´d signed up for. What she had traded for a chance to survive this winter. So she did not stir, did not look up while he walked around her, and when he asked his question, she barely flinched.

"Where´s your hair?"

"I uhm …" she reached for it, subconsciously, fingers gripping nothing but air. "I sold it … Monsieur. They offer good money for hair."

"I see."

Fantine didn´t dare to look up, but she took in a nervous breath, while waiting for his next question. The dress seemed too warm all the sudden, the air she could draw through her nose way too little. Too late she remembered her mistake and closed her mouth again. The reaction was unmistakable. He´d noticed.

"Open your mouth." he demanded, and Fantine glanced up at him, to meet a cold stare. "I won´t ask you twice."

She closed her eyes, shamefully for a second, and obeyed. But obviously she didn´t open her mouth wide enough for him, because a second later his hand shot forward, grabbing her jaw and forced her face up.

Fantine groaned, at the pain in her jaw joint. His fingers were like iron, like someone who held the mouth of a horse open, keeping the animal from closing it before the master would allow it.

"You got beaten up?" he asked her, impersonal and finally he let go.

Fantine massaged her cheek, still not looking up.

"No, sir."

She didn´t need to look at him. His body language told her that he understood.

"You sold those too." he spoke it out and Fantine nodded.

From the corner of her eye, she could see him straightening, looking down on her from even higher up. Most likely with even more distaste.

"Anything else you sold?" he demanded to know.

Fantine flinched. She understood the implication. Of course she did.

"A necklace." she answered, ignoring it. "And a scarf."

"That all?" he insisted, his voice more demanding.

"Yes."

She could feel his stare, but still she wouldn´t look up. She just couldn´t. But of course he wouldn´t allow her this retrieve.

"Look me in the eyes …" he demanded. "And say it again."

Fantine had to steel herself, but something about this demand of his made her angry. She raised her head, but when she did, she did it to glower at him, defiantly.

"I did not prostitute myself." she hissed into his arrogant face, loud and clear, so he would not have to ask a second time. He did not react. The stare that lay on her was still cold and detached and it made her defiance decrease just as quickly as it had come up. "I was close." she lowered her gaze at the shameful confession. "But I didn´t do it. I came to you before I had to."

"I see."

He stepped closer to her, intimidatingly, and she let her shoulders hang at last, steadying herself. She had always known this day would come. Somehow she had always known she would not be able to avoid it forever. Only she would have hoped to have it happen in a different way. Not quite as humiliating as this.

But humiliation was the best she could hope for in this life. She came back to his door, knowing that she´d crawl under his boot, ready to be kicked at will, even begging for it. Knowing that whatever he wanted from her, she would have to grant him. Knowing that it was no longer her choice what happened to her.

"Tell me what you would have done …" he spoke, slowly. "… if I had not let you stay."

Fantine closed her eyes. There. The one life-altering question. And had she any other option but to answer it, truthfully?

"I would have died." she said. "Eventually. I´m sure of it."

"So you´re trying to say you´re grateful." Madeleine inquired her affirmation, and of course Fantine had no choice but to give it.

"Yes."

"That I saved your life?"

"Yes." God, how she hated it.

Madeleine nodded. "Good." he said it as if the decision was made. "So you know what that means."

Fantine looked up, uncertain what he wanted to hear from her.

His brows were raised, as if her hesitation was nothing but proof for how slow she was.

"Your life is mine now." he revealed the right answer to her. "And all your services."

Fantine lowered her gaze again, exhaling a shaky breath. "I will do whatever you ask … Monsieur."

"I bet you will." he mumbled, and turned away, so suddenly it startled her. What was he doing? She had thought …

"First you will clean the guest room you slept in." he ordered her. "Free it from the stench you left in there. This one bath did not help much, but in time we´ll see."

"Yes, Monsieur."

"You won´t sleep in there ever again."

The muscles in her shoulders tensed, instinctively, as she braced herself for what would inevitably come next. She asked: "Where do you want me to sleep then?"

When he didn´t answer at once, she glanced up, and met an ice-cold gaze. The way he regarded her, it was impossible that he saw anything else in her but a dirty and stinking street rat. This was not the gaze of a man who looked at a woman.

Eventually his gaze shifted away from her.

"You´ll get a chamber." he told her. "There´s a closet beneath the stairs. Clean it out and prepare it for yourself as you like. I don´t care. But you won´t take anything from my household. Understood?"

Fantine´s heart was beating into her throat but somehow she managed to speak the words. "Yes, Monsieur."

"You will work under the authority of my housekeepers." he went on. "Whatever they tell you will be your command. And you won´t get payed."

At this her eyes snapped up in shock. What?

"You may eat what we give you, or what is left over from my meals if you want. But other than this …"

"I have to pay for my child!" she cried out, in desperation, and from one moment to the next his busy monologue was interrupted. The following silence weighted heavier than ten tons of led on her shoulders. Despite the warm dress, she felt like she could freeze under his stare.

"Do not interrupt me." he spoke, his voice quiet but slicing "You hear me? Never."

The posture and self control Fantine had built around herself for this meeting broke away like it had never been. "Monsieur, please." she cried, tears blinding her sight. "If I don´t send them money … they´ll throw her out. She´s only seven years old. Please, treat me like your dog if you wish, but don´t let my daughter die. Please."

She didn´t know how she managed it to keep herself from breaking down for good, but somehow she kept on her feet, even managed it to look up at him, pleadingly. His eyes were still distant.

"How much do they claim?" he asked, like someone would ask for the prize of an item he rather wouldn´t buy if it was up to him.

"Ten Francs a month." Fantine´s hopes rose again. "If she isn´t sick. Please, that´s all I need, Monsieur, only that." She dared to skip closer, reaching out a hand, to beg for his mercy. It had worked once already. If it only worked one more time, it would be enough. "Please, she´s a child."

Madeleine stepped back from her touch. "All right." he spoke, coldly. "But nothing more."

Fantine closed her eyes, all strength leaving her body. "Thank you." she sank to her knees. "Thank you, lord. Thank you."

"Let´s see how you prove yourself to me." her relief truly seemed to be nothing to Madeleine. "And now get to work." he demanded, turning away, to leave. I want you to be done with the room before the day is out."

**...**

Upstairs in his bedroom Madeleine peeked out the window, carefully to not disturb the curtains. There was a police man walking the street. Javert didn´t lie.

Of course he didn´t. Madeleine doubted very much the man was even capable of lying. But keeping certain truths out of a conversation … that didn´t seem too far fetched.

Did he suspect something? Was he closing a tight circle around him, in case he needed to grab him quickly? Madeleine´s hand once again grazed the sleeve with the spring clip underneath. As soon as he realized the movement, he lowered his arms, as if someone could see the betraying gesture.

No. This wasn´t true. Javert was loyal. One of the most loyal men Madeleine ever had. He had posted these men around his house in order to protect him. Him. He´d seen it in his eyes. There was no lie there. Only loyalty. Deep loyalty. And yet.

What if he was ever to find out? Javert was still dedicated to the law, bound to it, as he was bound to God´s commands. If he should ever find out who it really was he served …

His first duty, he´d called it. But what was his real first duty? To serve justice. Not him. Justice.

What could he do? Getting rid of Javert was impossible. He was his best man. Sending him away now would only raise too many questions. And aside from that it would be very unwise to lose a good man like Javert. He was too much of an asset.

No. Madeleine had to find a way to disarm him. To bind him even closer to him. Something to keep him in line, even if he _would_ find out. He needed something in his hand, something against Javert, something that could break the inspector´s neck, that would drown him right along with him should he send him back to prison. But what? What?

A few rooms from his he heard rumblings. Sounds of furniture that got moved. A heavy thud. Fantine had started to clean out the guest room, just as he´d ordered.

Madeleine frowned, thinking deeply.


	7. Protector

**Protector**

Javert left the station-house, just before sunset. He was done with his paperwork for the day, and the desk sergeant had been filled in on everything he needed to know for the night shift. And yet this was not the most present thing on Javert´s mind.

The mayor had been strangely distant today, when he´d given him his report. He hadn´t offered much of his usual hospitality, only a few words and then he´d send him on his way again, claiming he had more work to do before the day was out. Javert would never dare to question his mayor, but somehow he had seemed worried not so much by work, but by something else entirely.

Maybe it had to do with the servant, Fantine, Javert mused. It was only two weeks since she was in his service again, but for a cunning criminal this would be more than enough time to plan something. Maybe Javert should ask him tomorrow, if he needed any help with her, if he suspected her to be stealing after all. Javert would be able to help with that.

He made his way through the streets, walking his usual route. The sunlight was dimming quickly and soon the stars would come out. Javert had just about finished this thought, when a figure passing a corner ahead of him, caught his attention. Had that been …?

He quickened his steps. There was no actual indication that the man he´d just seen was the mayor, but something in Javert just made him nervous all the sudden. Why would the mayor walk the streets at night, all alone, without his guards protecting him? It just couldn´t be him.

Of course it wasn´t him. Javert was sure of it. He just needed to see the man one more time, a little closer to make sure he really only mistook him for Madeleine. The fading daylight would do that to you.

He reached the corner, and there was the man, walking down the street, head bowed, shoulders hunched as if against the cold, hands in his pockets. And even though he couldn´t see his face, the size and figure of the man, even the way he walked was so distinctive. No. It mustn´t be him. Not alone at night!

Javert followed, stopping again at the next crossroad. He saw the man stop at an allay, to look back and about for a moment. The last light of day fell on the man´s face, and Javert recognized without any doubt, Madeleine.

Dear God! What was he doing here?

Javert was about to call out, but in this moment the mayor had already darted into the allay, disappearing from his watchful sight. No!

Javert almost stumbled in his attempt to follow. He could not allow the mayor to enter a backside allay in the dark like this. Alone and unprotected. Criminals were lurking in those allays. Didn´t he know? Why would he do this? Was he mad?

He wanted to call out again, but this time he didn´t dare anymore. If any criminal should be around, lurking for a chance to rob a wealthy gentleman, it was a bad idea to draw their attention to the fact that it wasn´t just any gentleman they could now get their hands on.

Just a moment before Javert reached the allay, he heard a voice. Low and muffled. He could not understand the words. But the voice was rough. Demanding. No!

His hand went down to his belt, finding the grip of his sword by instinct, and he drew it before he even flattened his back against the wall, to peek around the corner, into the allay. What he saw made his blood curl, and even though it probably happened much faster in reality, for him it happened slowly, and painfully drawn out, every movement a long and slow event all in its own.

He saw the mayor, with another man, much less gentleman for sure, and this man was at Madeleine. Just as Javert looked, the mayor went down, crying out and hitting the ground with flying arms, trying to fend off whatever attack might still come after him. Javert saw a knife in the hand of the attacker, and after that he simply acted.

When he stormed into the allay, the attacking criminal turned towards him, the knife in his hand glistening like silver. Madeleine´s foot kicked into the man´s boot, making him turn around one more time, annoyed. It was enough for Javert to reach the man, and strike, before he could strike.

His sword went through the man with almost too much ease, and from one moment to the next, the shady criminal, possible murderer of Montreuil-sur-Mer´s mayor, tensed, his eyes only inches away from Javert.

For a while time seemed to have stopped. There were only Javert and this man who´d tried to attack his mayor, and the feeling when he turned the sword in the murderer´s stomach was as satisfying as something could be. The man coughed up blood, all over Javert, but Javert did not skip back. It was the blood of a criminal. It was judgment.

The man´s hand tried to grab him, but it slipped off his collar. Javert finally withdrew the sword, in one quick jerk – Justice! – and stepped back as the man broke down. His heart was beating fast, his head almost spinning. But it was glorious. This … was justice.

He turned around, searching for his mayor. He was still on the ground, his back pressed against the brick wall. Still shaking.

"It´s all right, Monsieur le Maire." he assured him. "He´s dead."

He offered Madeleine his hand, to help him up, but instead of taking it, the mayor skipped back from him, as if afraid. Javert was confused. The eyes of his mayor jumped to the dead man on the ground, for a second, before he glanced at him again.

"By God, Javert." he breathed. "What have you done?"

"What …" Javert was startled. "Monsieur."

Madeleine got back to his feet, quickly, and skipped back, away from Javert. "You just killed a man." he said, and Javert was completely undone.

"He was attacking you."

"He wasn´t."

"But …"

"I came here to do business with him."

The words he heard did not make any sense to Javert. "I saw him attack you. He held a knife."

"This dagger is what I wanted to buy from him." Madeleine cried. "It´s a merchandise, not a weapon."

Javert felt numb, his head going blank from one moment to the next.

"He … you went down. He threatened you."

"I slipped. It´s icy. No one attacked me." The mayor was panting, wiping his chin. "My God, Javert. What did you do? Why did you not at least identify yourself as police? Give him a chance to surrender? And explain himself."

Javert felt himself skip back. His eyes found the dead man on the ground. The dagger in his hand, the gold and jewels covering the grip, peeking out from behind his dead fingers.

"I … I had to act fast." Javert´s fingers lost grip of his sword and somewhere in the distance he registered it dropping to the ground. "He … he threatened you …"

"Javert."

"I … I …"

"Javert!" from out of nowhere the mayor´s hands were on him, stopping his retrieve. "Javert." He shook him, but Javert could only stare at this dead man on the ground. Until Madeleine´s hand took his chin and moved his head away from it. "Javert, look at me." he spoke, his gaze clear and strong and demanding. Whatever he would command, Javert would answer. He said: "No one can ever know what happened here. You understand that? Do you understand?"

Javert was numb. "Yes, Monsieur le Maire." he answered mechanically.

The intense stare of his mayor changed, to something filled with pain, and before he knew it, Javert felt himself pulled in, by strong arms, for an embrace too sudden and too impulsive to struggle or protest against it – if he´d even been in any condition to protest against anything the mayor did.

Javert felt the man´s arms around him, squeezing so tight as if it was him who needed comfort, not Javert. Both of their breaths were fast, Madeleine´s maybe a bit stronger than his own, and definitely for a different reason. But in time – Javert did not know how long – both their breaths evened until somehow Javert´s ruined mind cleared a bit. Enough to let him think again, and ask himself if any of this was real or just a horrific nightmare.

"This is all my fault." he heard the mayor speak against his shoulder, and his voice was not so even either, despite the grimness in his tone. "I should have never come here. Alone. At night. Doing illegal business with a black-marketeer. I´m as guilty as you are for this man´s death."

"M-monsieur."

Javert´s hands finally remembered that they could move and began to rise, behind the mayor´s back, just as Madeleine released him, to hold him at arm´s length. The gaze that met his was grim, and determined, almost fierce.

"I won´t allow that you go to prison for that."

Javert had not believed it possible to be numbed again, but now it happened. "What?"

Prison hadn´t even crossed his mind until now.

The hand on his shoulder tightened a little bit more.

"You protected me." Madeleine said. "I´ll do the same thing for you. No one will know what happened here." For a moment he only looked at Javert, as if expecting a response. Only Javert was way beyond any coherent response. Madeleine seemed to know that. He nodded, understandingly.

"Help me move this body." he said.

And of course Javert obeyed.

**...**

The way back home was astoundingly easy. Easier than he would have expected, especially with both of their coats stained with blood. Javert´s definitely more than his. And the smell of blood in his nose threw Madeleine back. Back to a time when he´d been another man. He could see this man now, dirty and barefoot, covered in blood and running, just running to get away from a convent where he´d left behind everything that still connected him to his former life. Even the name he´d once worn. But not the guilt. Never the guilt.

Guilt was something that stayed with you forever. It marked you, it dictated all your actions, and it would bind Javert to him, forever after this night.

The man was totally numb under his hand. He simply followed as Madeleine led him to his house, around the corner and to the backdoor. Someone who didn´t know the man, would have taken Javert for a wimp who couldn´t stand the sight of blood or a dead man.

But Madeleine knew him. He´d seen him do it. Had seen the glowing in Javert´s eyes when his sword had killed the man. This man was not a wimp. He was strong and dedicated and he had been absolutely perfect. In the moment of the kill he´d been a hundred percent convinced about the righteousness of his action.

And oh, if he only knew how true this was. In some way it was.

This man had been a do no good criminal. It had been almost too easy, to arrange that meeting with him on short notice. Too easy to make him realize that his customer was no other than the mayor. Too easy to make him understand that attacking would provide him with much more money than going through with the trade. This man had been nothing but scum. His death was no loss to the world, but it would provide Madeleine with a friend for life. One who would give _his_ life for _his_ when the day would come. One day.

Quickly he opened the door, and ushered Javert up the stairs, in the back of his house. The servants´ stairs. The inspector obeyed, still merely acting automatically, and just as he was out of sight, a voice startled Madeleine.

"Hello?" someone called, curious.

Dammit.

"It´s just me, Thomás." Madeleine closed the door and took a breath, to steady his nerves.

Just in time he noticed the blood stains on his coat and brought up his arm, to cover it as nonchalantly as possible.

"Monsieur le Maire." Thomás frowned at his sight. "I thought you were upstairs."

"I was just outside for a moment." Madeleine explained.

"Alone?"

The mayor and master of this house, gave his guard a face. "Yes." he emphasized. "It´s my backyard."

"Of course, but …" Thomás glanced down, and frowned even deeper. "Sir, is everything all right?" he pointed at his sleeve – the one he didn´t hold up to hide the evidence of his deeds – and Madeleine looked down.

When he spotted the little stain he cursed, in silence. Out loud he simply raised his brows and said: "Ah, yeah …" he smiled, sheepishly. "A cat left something not so nice out there. I believe it was a rat once."

Thomás was still frowning but at least he didn´t try to argue with the explanation.

"I trust the house is secured?" Madeleine inquired from his guard.

"From rat killing cats, sir?" Thomás asked without a smile.

Or dogs, Madeleine added in his mind, adding the smile Thomás had left out.

"It is, sir." Thomás answered the question, all business and Madeleine nodded, still smiling.

"Good. I´ll go to bed. Carry on."

"Yes, Monsieur."

Madeleine did not look back at his guard when he made his way to the front, to use the grand stairs up to his first floor, and Thomás did not ask any more questions.

Javert was waiting in the dark hallway, silent like a shadow. Had Madeleine found him in this spot on any other night when mounting the stairs to his bedroom, he would have stopped breathing for a second, feeling like the trapped animal that he was. And when he saw him now, his hand almost wandered down to his arm, to where his spring clip would sit on every other day of his life. Only not today. Today it would have been a mistake to wear it. He knew he would have to take off his coat in front of Javert soon enough, so the clip was not a good idea to reveal.

He ushered Javert to the door of his room, and quickly closed the door behind them. The room was warm, the oven always well maintained by his staff and it was good that way. Even he had started to freeze while they´d been out there. He hurried to turn on the oil lamp over his desk, but not even its warm light could cast a more healthy color on Javert´s pale cheeks.

"Get out of this coat." he ordered him, trying to sound all business, but Javert didn´t move. He didn´t look as if he still could.

"He noticed something." he spoke. "Your guard."

"Yes." Madeleine agreed. "But he´s loyal and he won´t ask any questions."

He put the dagger he´d taken from the dead man, on his desk. There was a little bit of blood on the golden grip, coloring one of the diamonds among the rubies and emeralds purple. Madeleine took a moment to wonder why he had taken it. It wasn´t that he needed it. But leaving it behind would have been a waste, and at best a risk, since it could become evidence against him as soon as the body was found.

He shook his head and turned back to Javert.

"Now put out your coat." he repeated his order. "You can´t walk through the streets with that."

To emphasize his words he took off his own coat, and finally Javert responded. He began to undo his buttons. Madeleine waited patiently until he´d peeled himself out of it, and took it from Javert, hanging it over his arm along with his own coat. There was still blood on Javert. On his uniform. And the collar of his shirt.

"We´ll have to clean this all." Madeleine decided at last. "I give you something of mine to change into. Just a moment." He went to his wardrobe, opening the doors. "Take that off." he ordered, his tone the same as before. "Your shirt too."

"Monsieur le Maire."

"No more words, Javert. Do it." He looked through his clothes for a moment. "Here." he took out something. "That should do."

When he held out the shirt and waistcoat for Javert to see and approve, he realized that the inspector still hadn´t moved at all. And despite his knowledge that he was responsible for the man´s pitiful state, he could not help but feel annoyed at the lack of compliance.

"Undress." he repeated his order, but Javert only shook his head, numbly.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, and finally he sounded like a living man again. "Covering up a crime?"

"A mistake, Javert." Madeleine corrected.

"I killed a man." Javert cried. "I´m a murderer. I need to be held accountable."

"No. …"

"This isn´t right."

"Javert."

"We can´t do this."

Madeleine dropped the clothes on his bed.

"I murdered a man and hid his body. I fled the scene …"

"Javert."

"... and now I …"

"Javert!" Madeleine grabbed him, just like he´d grabbed him in the allay, when Javert had panicked like this. In here it was much easier to restrain him. He pressed the inspector into the wall, as if afraid he could try to run and took his frantic face into his hands, so he would look at him, and only him.

"Javert, listen to me." he demanded, the blue eyes of the man unwillingly focusing on him. "You are not a murderer." he told him. "You are a good man. The best I ever had. I made a mistake. I. And you tried to protect me. Had this man really threatened me, you would have saved my life. You did the right thing, but that is not what the world will see. You hear me? All the world will see is a dead man, who did not pose any threat at all, killed by a police man who is the son of a Gypsy woman and a criminal. They will charge you with murder and you will go to jail. Am I supposed to allow this? Let you work up to nineteen years at the galleys? I don´t think so. I will not let this happen, you hear me? You did your duty. More than that. You followed me, even though you didn´t have to. Your shift was over, wasn´t it?"

Javert did not answer but the way he gulped was more than enough reaction than Madeleine needed. He knew it was true. Of course he knew. He´d planned it. And he had known that Javert would follow when he´d see him in the streets at night. Alone. Unprotected. He was too good of a man to do anything else. Almost too good for this world. And too easy to manipulate this way. Had Madeleine been able to feel pity he would have felt it right now.

"What´s done is done." he told the broken man before him. "We can´t undo our mistakes. But I will not allow that you are punished for doing the right thing. You´ve only done your duty. You protected me, now let me do the same thing for you."

"Yes, Monsieur le Maire." the answer was a mechanical one, just like most things Javert did tonight.

Madeleine smiled, squeezing the cheek under his hand, approvingly, and stepped back. "Now take off that shirt." he repeated his order yet again, gentler this time. And at last Javert did not object any longer.

With a resigning sigh he reached for his buttons to open the uniform. After he´d handed the jacket to Madeleine he turned around, also mechanically, before he took off the shirt. Madeleine couldn´t help. He chuckled at this demonstration of self-consciousness, if not even shyness. And that from a man like Javert.

He granted him his illusion of privacy – as if only seeing his bare back was less exposed than seeing the bare chest of the man – and handed him the new shirt over his shoulder.

"I will let Fantine clean all this." he said, while Javert buttoned the borrowed waistcoat. "She will not ask any questions."

"I must report back to work tomorrow." Javert protested. "I can´t do that without my uniform."

"You can´t do it with blood on your uniform." Madeleine held against it.

"But I …"

"Take the day off. Write a note to the chief. Personal reasons, you don´t have to explain any further."

"But …"

"Take the day off."

"Yes, Monsieur."

Madeleine nodded, and went back to his wardrobe, to chose a coat. "This will do for you to get home." he took out a dark one. It would suit Javert enough for the time being.

"Why are you doing this?"

The question came from out of nowhere, blindsiding him, and when he met Javert´s gaze he saw honest confusion in his eyes. And a pain he desperately wanted to ease.

"Because I need you." he answered therefor. "And prison is not an option. Understand?"

Javert only nodded.

"Yes, Monsieur le Maire."

**...**

Fantine lay on the ground, surrounded by the darkness of her little closet under the stairs, and listened intently for every sound that would tell her that the inspector would leave Madeleine´s bedroom again. She had no idea what was going on, but she had known something was about to happen, the moment she had seen Madeleine sneak out the backdoor this evening. After he´d given order to the entire household not to disturb him anymore.

When he had returned, with the inspector in tow, Fantine had watched them through the tiniest crack of the door, unnoticed, either by the two secretmongers nor by Thomás. And she had heard every word that had been spoken. Never since she knew him, had Madeleine openly lied so clumsily to one of his guards, as if he seriously had something to hide.

What the hell was going on?

Eventually she heard the sounds of footsteps again. Quietly, set very careful to not make any more noise than necessary. They came sneaking down the stairs.

Again she peeked out through the crack of her door. Madeleine and Javert spoke very quiet and very brief, one last time, before the door was finally closed again. This time Thomás was not attracted by a sound he considered worth to be checked out. Madeleine left the door, but instead of heading back upstairs, he marched straight towards Fantine´s door.

Her heart just about stopped for a moment.

Quickly she lay down, pretending to sleep. Had he noticed her spying? Had he? Had he?

The door was opened, quick and harsh, but as silent as a nightly shadow. Fantine did not dare to move. She kept her eyes closed, forcing her face into a relaxed mask of real sleep, just in case he could see it in this darkness.

A foot nudged her in the shoulder, and she flinched around, glancing up at his looming figure. His face was as cold as always.

He didn´t say a word – probably to not attract Thomás´ attention – only gestured for her to follow. And Fantine did.

**...**

The first thing Javert noticed when he got home, was the blood on his boots. He instantly took them off and started cleaning. And the whole time he felt dirtier and dirtier. For washing off the blood that was now on his hands, for covering up a crime like a no good criminal, for taking the coward´s way out of a situation he should stand up for and take responsibility.

He also couldn´t help thinking of the infamous lady McBeth. Would he also see the blood on his boots again and again, every time he looked at them, no matter how often he cleaned them? Would he go mad just like this murderous woman? He felt as if he did.

What had he done? What had the mayor done? How could all of this happen so fast. Only this morning he´d been a righteous man. He´d know what was right and wrong, and now … now he wasn´t sure about anything anymore. The mayor was a good man. But he covered a criminal. Him. He was a police man. A man of the law. How could he be criminal like this? It couldn´t be. It didn´t make sense. And yet it was.

Javert went to his window, desperately searching for the stars. But the stars were hidden behind thick clouds. It had started snowing. And standing there on his window, looking out into this dark and cold world, Javert felt like falling. He was doomed. He committed a crime, lowered himself down to the scum he always tried to escape.

The vault he now stared into was bottomless and Javert had no idea where this would end. How could a world like that be? How could _he_ even exist in this world? Did he have any choice in this at all? Or was the mayor doing all the choices for him?

Javert knew only one thing for sure. Whatever would happen now. His life was in God´s hands.

* * *

><p><strong>Well. Now who is protecting whom? I´m sure Madeleine thinks he´s only protecting himself. Only ... <strong>

**But who am I to know what they´re REALLY doing? :D  
><strong>


	8. Doomed

**Doomed**

When the sun rose the next morning over Montreuil-sur-Mer, Fantine´s hands were stiff. Her fingers would barely move, cold and numb as they were, and when they did it hurt as if someone was driving a toothy knife through every single one of her joints. The entire night she´d been washing the clothes Madeleine had given to her – a uniform jacket and a greatcoat – with the strict order to wash out all traces of dirt. That´s what he´d called it. Dirt.

She was to do it alone, and no one else was to know or even notice what she did. At the time Fantine had not dared to ask him any questions about it. She just went to work, frantically trying her best to obey his order to have all of this done and the clothes dry and pressed the next morning. It wasn´t easy with the low temperatures of winter, but somehow she managed it to get them at least halfway dry. Clean they were. She had not failed in that.

When she at last delivered the clothes to Madeleine´s room, barely able to keep on her feet any longer, he did not say a word. She was still too tired to ask him any questions, but she noticed a clean shirt lying on his bed, neatly folded, and he put the uniform above it.

Fantine left him, in total silence, storing this detail away in the back of her mind, for a closer examination. Later, when she had rested and could think clear again.

**...**

Barely an hour later, Madeleine and his staff left the house, ready to leave for the office at his factory. He´d handed the bag that contained Javert´s clothes to his assistant, Amelie, along with all the other bags she had to carry. It wouldn´t stand out much.

He was just about to enter the carriage, when a lonely figure crossing the street with quick strides, caught his attention.

Javert.

He was in civil clothes – not Madeleine´s – and damn, the sight was strange. Judging by his staff´s gazes, it wasn´t only strange to him.

"Javert." he greeted, as nonchalantly as possible. "I expected to meet you at the factory. Later." He unobtrusively gestured for the bag in Amelie´s hand.

"Everything is …"

"Monsieur le Maire." Javert talked over him, and while this interruption was already unusual enough for the man, his distraught tone was even more unusual. "I need to talk to you." he told Madeleine and his gaze was repressed. As if he was trying to hide a physical pain.

Madeleine hesitated. "Surely this can wait until we´re at the office."

He really didn´t want everyone to speculate why he suddenly changed his habits. No one had ever gotten an audience with him without making an appointment first, except there was a very good reason. And in this case, of course he could never share the reason with any of his staff members.

No. Javert would have to wait until they could talk at their official conference room. He would just …

And that was the moment Madeleine noticed the tiny beads of sweat on Javert´s forehead. The desperate furrow between his brows, the slight and almost unnoticeable quiver of his upper lip, the frantic tapping of his fingers to his own leg. The man was a wreck. Dear God.

"All right." Madeleine spoke, carefully. "I … I guess we have a few minutes. Thomás."

"Yes, Monsieur."

The guards stepped aside to allow the mayor and his inspector to pass, and reenter the house. All the way to the library Madeleine feared Javert might break down. But he didn´t. Not yet.

Fantine and Marianne were dusting off the shelves when they entered and he ordered them out, with not more than one word. He barely noticed Fantine´s tired but curious gaze, as she retrieved. And then he closed the door.

"What is it, Javert?" he asked. "I thought we were …"

"I can´t do it, Monsieur." Javert once again talked over him, and the shaking in his voice made every anger Madeleine might have felt upon such insolence, dissolve before it even came.

"Javert."

"I tried but …"

"You tried one night." Madeleine felt angry after all. What the hell was the matter with that man?

"What I did was a crime." Javert insisted. "And if I avoid my own responsibility, how can I keep wearing this uniform?"

Madeleine sighed. "We´ve been over this. What you did was not a crime. It was a mistake. One I am responsible for, not you."

"I did it." Javert shook his head, resolutely. "Not you. I have to …"

"You will do nothing." Madeleine stopped him, fiercely. "You hear me?"

"I am betraying everything I ever believed in. It´s not right to cover up what I did."

"We, Javert." Madeleine corrected and stepped closer to take the man by his shoulders. "We did. Never forget that. We are in this together."

But Javert was still shaking his head. "It was me." he insisted, yet again. "Not you. I need to turn myself in. You must charge me, sir. That alone is just."

The anger in Madeleine boiled over. How could a man be so self crucifying? How?

"And then?" he asked him, fuming. "You want to go to prison? Cause this is what waits for you. Prison, Javert!"

"I know."

"So you want to go there?"

"No. But if this is the just punishment, I must accept it."

Madeleine was mad enough by now, at so much stubbornness, to punch reason into Javert. But he didn´t. This man was ridiculous, nothing more.

"You don´t know what you´re talking about." he told him, dismissing the whole idea. "Do you even know what a life this would be?"

"I was a guard." Javert recalled, hollowly. "I know."

"Being a guard and being a prisoner are Two. Different. Things. You know that. Don´t pretend you´d know how it would be. You live with the lowest scum in the smallest spaces. You sleep in the stench of their piss and shit and decay, hoping by God it isn´t your own yet. You´d be forced to work until you break down. And as a former police man you´d be attacked by other inmates in a trice. You would not last long in prison, Javert, no matter how strong you are."

The former prison guard, current police inspector Javert held his gaze fixed on the ground. In shame, in pain, in desperation. Madeleine couldn´t have named all the emotions he saw in this gaze.

"I can´t just run away." Javert pressed out, and for a moment Madeleine almost feared the man would start crying.

"You won´t." he grabbed his shoulders again, made him look up, into his eyes. "You´ll stay right here. Live with your guilt. Take that as your punishment. Believe me this can be much worse than prison."

The broken man stared at him, astound, shocked. "You speak as if you know … Monsieur." he brought out and Madeleine took a step back, his gaze never leaving Javert, never decreasing in its intensity.

"I do." he said, and Javert blinked, startled. "You think I´m a saint, Javert? I´m not. I carry my own burden in life, just like every other man. Yes, I do know what it means to carry guilt that no one knows about. And I´m trying to make up for this guilt."

Javert regarded him, with a sad desperate frown, for a long time. "Is this the reason why you help me?" he then asked, startling Madeleine.

The mayor needed a moment to think. That was not a question he would have expected. He also didn´t expect that he actually wanted to answer the question, truthfully.

"Maybe." he said. "But I also do it because I believe it´s the right thing, Javert. It _is_ the right thing. Javert. I am the one who committed a real crime, not you. You only tried to do your duty. And in a perfect world, people would see that. They wouldn´t see your parents and their past. They would see what I see. A dedicated police inspector, a good man. A loyal friend."

For a moment Madeleine was shocked himself about the effect his words had, and not only on Javert. At some point his hand had found its way back to Javert´s shoulder, as if that was exactly the place where it belonged.

"But the world isn´t perfect." he quickly went on. "The world is cruel and unforgiving. And in this world you would be punished for doing the right thing. The only thing you knew to do. In this world a man like you could end up in prison for something that wasn´t your fault. And I will not let this happen." His hand squeezed the shoulder under his palm. "You don´t deserve to go to prison."

When Javert answered his voice was barely there anymore. "I also don´t deserve to stay at this post. Monsieur le Maire. How can I keep up the law when I broke it myself? The very least you must do is dismiss me."

Madeleine glowered at Javert, holding this oh so pleading gaze of the man – pleading for punishment, who had ever heard such a ridiculous think?

"No." he then said, simple as that, and turned away.

"But Monsieur le Maire …"

"I said no. I need you at your post, Javert. And I don´t wish any discussion about this."

The inspector obeyed. He didn´t discuss. He simply lowered his gaze.

"Take this as your punishment." Madeleine repeated. "You think you don´t deserve it. So pain yourself with this order to remain at your post. Eat yourself up as much as you like. But you will stay."

Again Javert´s voice was choked. "Yes, Monsieur le Maire."

"Promise." Madeleine demanded and at last Javert looked up, meeting his gaze, startled. "Swear it to me." he clarified. "Swear you won´t do anything. Anything that could … that could rob me of my best inspector."

He could see how his words left Javert speechless. Thunderstruck. The man had to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he could answer.

"I swear." he said, but his eyes stayed on the ground, still so ashamed.

And without knowing why and how it even happened, Madeleine found himself reaching out for the man, and pull him into his arms, for a protective embrace. And maybe he was using a tiny bit more force than it was actually necessary. Just maybe.

"I´m so sorry …" he breathed, against the man´s shoulder. "That I did this to you."

He could feel Javert´s irritation, his natural reaction of defense and distancing. But he did not try to pull away. "It wasn´t your fault, Monsieur." he spoke, his voice clearly confused.

"I am the one who committed a real crime." the words fell out before Madeleine could stop them. "Not you. Not you."

Javert exhaled. "Yes, Monsieur le Maire."

Madeleine released the startled man, looking him into the eyes.

"Are we good?" he asked, lacking any better words, and yet again, Javert answered with his usual:

"Yes, Monsieur le Maire."

A relieved smile spread on the mayor´s lips. That was the man he knew.

"Good." he padded Javert´s cheek, before he finally let go of him. He still had no idea what had gotten into him to act so intimate. As if Javert was a child that needed to be comforted. Ridiculous. He must have been out of his mind.

"I still need to give you your uniform back." he diverted the matter to business he could control, and Javert seemed as grateful for it as he was. "Come to my office later." he ordered him. "I can´t give you the bag in front of everyone. It would raise too many questions."

"Yes, Monsieur le Maire."

**...**

Outside Fantine could hear the two men at last walk towards the door, and quickly hurried away, hiding in the shadow, until they were gone. Whatever it was these two had done together last night, it got curiouser and curiouser.

Later that day, she snuck upstairs, into the mayor´s bedroom, and began looking around. She didn´t know what she expected to find, but something just told her to keep looking. So she did. When she didn´t find anything unusual though, her irritation grew. And so did her frustration. She had been so sure.

The last place she searched – and that one she only searched for good measure before she would give up – was the mayor´s nightstand.

It was the most unlikely place for something secret to be hidden, because it was obvious, and silly and just too plain to be a real hiding place. But when she opened the drawer, her eyes fell on something that made her world stop dead for a second.

It was a shirt. A white shirt, folded but only to make it fit into the drawer. And on the collar and cuffs there were dark red stains.

Blood!

Fantine did not need to know the details. She knew enough in order to know what she had to do. She grabbed the shirt and threw the drawer shut with a push of her knee, hurrying out of the room before anyone could find her there.

**...**

When Javert entered the mayor´s office at the factory, he was a little calmer. His heart was still racing, way too much, his head still swimming with the shadow of uncertainty hanging over him, clouding his sight for every reasonable strategy.

The clear analytic mind was gone, replaced by that of a trapped animal, that can smell the hunter closing in, knowing that the only two options were fight or flight. And since Javert was Javert and not an animal, he was in an even worse place than the proverbial animal. Because he had neither of those choices. He couldn´t fight – the law? – and he surely couldn´t run – from the law, dear God! Javert the man, was trapped and he had no way out of this.

Except for the mayor. The man who had promised to protect him.

And what a strange feeling it was to be so dependent on another man. To be so in his hands. No matter how benevolent these hands were, how much Javert believed him, when Madeleine said, he wanted to help him. It still felt strange. It felt exposed and helpless and powerless. Javert did not like any of those feelings.

He´d always been in charge of his own life, his own fate. To hand this over to someone else now was hell. In a way it had been easier to just accept that he would not be able to avoid punishment. Even if that would have meant prison. Or death. Anything would have been easier to deal with than this uncertainty. Because even if the judgment had been death, it would have been something he knew, something he could understand and expect until it was enforced. This situation right now though … he didn´t understand it at all. He wasn´t sure he ever would.

When he met the mayor´s gaze he saw uncertainty in those eyes too. But not for the same reasons. The mayor was uncertain for him, Javert. He was worried. And he probably had good reason to be.

"Thomás, please give us a minute, will you?" Madeleine spoke to his guard and the young man frowned but left the room. Javert could feel his suspicions towards him. But there was nothing he could do about it. Only one more weight on the scale of lady justice, that slowly outweighed his righteousness. How could this ever happened?

Madeleine came to him, a leather bag in hand and gave it to him with a smile.

"All cleaned and pressed, just like new." he promised, as if none of this was anything unusual. Javert closed his eyes and forced himself to nod.

"Javert?"

He opened his eyes at the cautious voice and met the worried gaze of his superior. Genuinely worried. Not pretentious like some other superiors he had known over the years. This man here was really, truly trying to help him. Him.

"I´m fine." he brought out, but Madeleine was not convinced so easily.

"You sure?"

"I … I will report back to duty." Javert finally managed, much to his mayor´s displeasure.

"You took the day off, didn´t you?" he asked. "Like I told you?"

"I did. But … it is better I go back."

He tried to turn away, to take his leave, but Madeleine would not let him go. The lightest touch to his elbow was enough to keep him in place. There had been times when even an iron grip of the strongest man wouldn´t have been enough, if Javert really wanted to leave.

But how could a man still be sure he knew what he wanted, when his entire life lay in pieces before him?

"Javert?" Madeleine asked again, and Javert could read the question in his eyes.

He didn´t know how but somehow this gaze was the reason why Javert finally managed it to pull himself together.

"Don´t worry." he said, facing the mayor straight on, and at last Madeleine understood. The faintest smile grazed his lips. Not even really a smile. Just a tiny deepening of the little wrinkles around his eyes. Javert lowered his gaze.

"I just fear I won´t be able to stop thinking, if I don´t go back to work." he explained. "Monsieur le Maire."

"I see."

Javert looked up again, into the man´s eyes, and said: "Thank you, sir."

He barely managed the words.

Madeleine nodded.

"I´ll be here." he promised. "In case you need anything."

"I know."

The mayor nodded, and finally let go of his elbow. It was a strange thing, that Javert saw guilt in Madeleine´s eyes, while in fact _he_ had been the one who had killed a man in cold blood last night. A very strange thing indeed. And like everything else in this whole thing, he did not understand it.

But neither did Madeleine.

**...**

The day went by slowly, crawling almost, and for the first time since he could remember, Madeleine felt a pulsing headache because of the icy cold wind. When he got home he retrieved to his room, this time not because he had letters to write, but for the simple need to be left alone.

Only someone would not grant him the solitude he needed.

When Fantine stepped in, he glanced up, irritated.

"Monsieur?" she addressed him, cautiously, but he did not care about anything she could want.

"What is it, Fantine?" he snapped. "I´m busy."

Why did he even allow her to just enter like that? She was not his assistant anymore. She was a servant, nothing more. But before he could snarl at her to never dare again entering his room unasked, she closed the door behind herself, safely and unafraid. That was the moment when Madeleine realized, something was going on.

"I just wanted to inform you …" she began, watching him just as closely as he watched her. "That I found something peculiar today. It was in your nightstand, sir."

The muscles in his body tensed, ready to jump, but it wasn´t until she said the word shirt, that he truly jumped out of his chair, to swirl around and check his nightstand. The drawer was empty.

NO!

"It was blood-stained." Fantine spoke behind him, dragging him back to reality.

And her voice. It sounded from far away, way too calm, as if she simply informed him about a curious fact he as the master of the house should probably know about. And just this insolence, the fact that she dared to mock him like that, made him furious. When he jumped up, to approach her, she finally realized her mistake.

"What did you do with it?" he demanded to know. "Did you wash it?"

The moment of shock, as quickly as it had come, passed, and all that was left in her eyes, was a grim smile.

"Oh no." she shook her head. Her voice was shaking too. But not with fear.

Madeleine´s hand shot forward, grabbing her arm with iron fingers. "Where is it?"

"I hid it." she told him right into his face. "Gave it to a friend of mine."

His first irritation was defeated by this last sentence and he laughed. "What friend?" he asked. "You have no friends."

Fantine narrowed her eyes. "I do." she insisted. "There´s a gamin in the streets, that was quite fond of the idea to do me a favor."

Madeleine´s fingers seized her skinny arm in his fury. "What are you up to, woman?" he hissed, but his threat, neither the physical nor the mental one seemed to scare her in any way.

"Strange." was all she said. "I asked myself the same question about you. And this inspector." She held his gaze, not showing any pain at all, even though he knew his grip must hurt like hell. "You two did something and you´re covering it up." she spoke it out. "I bet it´s something you would do anything to keep it a secret. Wouldn´t you? Wouldn´t you?!"

Madeleine yanked her up, closer to his face. When his nose almost touched hers, he snarled at her: "Are you trying to extort me?" the next word he shouted into her face: "YOU?!"

Fantine flinched only for a second. But her gaze remained hard and defiant.

"Unbelievable, isn´t it?" she said. "That someone could be so desperate."

Madeleine pushed her away, making her stumble against the door. For a moment she struggled to keep her balance, hands searching for hold. But only for a moment.

"Where is that shirt?" he demanded to know.

"It´s safe."

"I want it back!"

"I bet you do."

Her gaze was so insolent, so provoking, he did not think any longer, and just jumped, hands grabbing both of her arms, pressing her into the door with force. She panted as her back collided with the wood, but the smile was still on her face.

"I can get hold of it whenever I want." she told him. "I bet the police would be very curious about it."

One of his hands shot up to her throat, making her gasp for real, eyes bulging out in sudden fear.

"You will tell me where I can find this shirt. Now."

"Or what?" she croaked. "You kill me? Go ahead. A body right here in your house would be something to explain, Monsieur le Maire. If I don´t meet this boy again tomorrow morning, the shirt will be delivered to the police for sure."

Madeleine´s fingers closed around her throat on their own account. Oh God he wanted to crush her for all this insolence. For her daring attitudes, for the simple fact that someone like her existed and dared it to look him in the eyes like that. Daring. Provoking. Demanding to be treated as equal. How preposterous.

Before him the woman croaked, choked, hands desperately trying to pry his hands off her throat, but unsuccessfully. Slowly her resistance weakened, losing the fight as air got refused to enter her lungs. Her lids fluttered like that of a dying butterfly. Soon. Just a little longer and her insolence would come to an end. For good. Soon now.

Just before her eyes rolled back even further he let go of her, stepping back while she sucked in the air, desperately panting, coughing, hand gripping her throat. Her other hand was reaching behind, but only for hold, not to reach the door handle. She was still not thinking about running away. She was still not scared enough to believe he might actually truly kill her. Oh, she had no idea. No idea at all what he _could_ have done to her.

For a moment the precious dagger in the drawer of his desk grazed his thoughts unasked, but he pushed it away.

"What do you want?" he asked her, and when she only looked at him, taking her time to calm her own breathing, he lost his patience.

"Speak!"

"I want my daughter." was her cryptic answer, almost too quiet for him to even hear the words.

A laugh escaped him. "What?"

"I want my daughter." Fantine repeated, so determined, it couldn´t be a mistake. "Here." she clarified. "You will get her from the inn and let her live here with me."

Madeleine stared at her, shaking his head in total disbelieve. She could not be serious. This was ridiculous. How could she even dare to ask something as impossible as this? He was laughing, but she would not let him.

"You will give her her own room." she demanded. "Both of us, and you will pay me, at least enough to let her believe this is a respectable job I´m doing. You will take her in and give her a chance to live. Better than me. You do that and this shirt will stay where it is. If you don´t …" she halted, only for a second. "Well, you use your fantasy."

Madeleine stood there, facing her, confronted with a face that was as hard as a stone, almost matching his, and he had no idea what to think. Was this real? Was this truly happening? When had he lost control over his carefully calculated plan? When?

Fantine did not waver. She didn´t speak any more words, but her gaze would not leave him either. It was hard, it was intense and it was demanding an answer. Yes or no. Secret or Truth. Back or Forth? Madeleine decided to take his chance.

"All right." he pressed out. "You´ll get what you want. If I get that shirt."

"Oh no." Fantine was seriously laughing at him. "I think I´m gonna hold onto that." she said. "You know. Just for safety."

Again he advanced upon her, threatening, but this time she did not flinch at all. She simply held his gaze and against his own nature, he stopped, knowing there was nothing he could do.

"You meet that boy tomorrow?" he asked at last, and when she nodded: "I´ll go with you."

The expected nervousness did not occur. Instead Fantine just shrugged, indifferently. "You can do that." she said. "He won´t bring the shirt."

Madeleine raised his hand instinctively, rage boiling up again, and Fantine flinched back, also on instinct. And that was the moment he realized what he was doing. That hitting her would make no difference. None at all. So he took down his arm.

"I told him to meet me." Fantine obviously took his decision not to go through with it for an invitation to keep speaking. "And if I don´t show, he shall bring the shirt to the police, and tell them where it´s from. And everything else I told him."

Madeleine felt his chest tighten in feral fear. "You told him?" he repeated, and something in Fantine´s eyes changed. She must have seen what this idea had caused in him. Must have realized how dangerous this was.  
>"I wrote it down." she rephrased it. "In a letter. He keeps that one too."<p>

"He doesn´t know?" Madeleine asked for confirmation again, and Fantine gulped, gaze never changing.

"No." she affirmed. "He doesn´t. You can believe me. But he has everything the police needs to really look into you, Monsieur le Maire, and you can believe that as well. I took good care about the details in my letter."

"I believe you did." Madeleine rasped and for a moment the two of them were engaged in a staring contest, held in total silence.

"So you just meet him to make sure nothing happens to you tonight." Madeleine at last broke the silence. "Clever."

"And …" she added. "To pay him."

The mayor snorted. Of course. More extortion. Why not?

"How much?"

"Five sous."

He wiped his face. Would this day never end?

"All right." he snapped. "But I´ll still go with you. Just in case you´re a better bluffer than I thought you were."

Fantine nodded, solemnly, and took a step back, towards the door, like a perfectly good servant. "There are a lot of things you don´t know about me." she said. "Sir."

Madeleine´s eyes bored into hers. "Obviously." he hissed, but Fantine did not seem to hear the hostile tone.

* * *

><p><strong>I just wanna repeat once more, that I really appreciate reviews. Feedback, you know. <strong>

**That´s all.**


	9. Hell is other People

**Hell is other People  
><strong>

Fantine hadn´t lied. The boy did not have the shirt with him when they met. He looked at Madeleine with some sort of suspicion, and that alone made Madeleine angry and nervous yet again.

Fantine payed the kid, and seriously arranged for him to come to Madeleine´s house, every morning, for food. Another precaution, to make sure Madeleine knew she had secured herself, in case he should get ideas to let her vanish somehow. Damn woman. She sure wanted her little brat to be spoiled with Madeleine´s money. And somehow he even suspected her to have planned this whole thing, that she had known he would accompany her today, so he would hear what she arranged with the boy.

If there was anything he hated, then it was to be played.

He payed her a cab to drive to this infamous little town named Montfermail to fetch the kid. And while she´d looked at him with grim determination this whole time since their agreement, on that morning her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and in her eyes there was something that Madeleine could only name with the word hope.

The whole day he couldn´t get the image out of his mind. And when he came home in the evening he expected to see the same expression. He was wrong. Instead he saw a glowing Fantine, bright and smiling like he´d never seen her smile. The only thing that made the picture less perfect was the dark spot between her teeth, the one he could always see, no matter how well hidden in the back of her mouth it was.

The kid on Fantine´s hand was skinny and pale, but when her mother nudged her forward, urging her to say hello to Monsieur Madeleine, the girl curtsied and smiled – shyly but she smiled. Her big blue eyes looked up at him, not quite in fear but with a great deal of respect.

Madeleine did not smile back at her.

Having the child in his home proved to be hell right the first day after she´d arrived. He came home and found his housekeeper rebuking the child in the kitchen, for having broken a valuable pitcher.

The little one was crying on her mother´s apron while Fantine tried to apologize to the housekeeper and defend her child the same time. Madeleine had to admit, she managed an interesting mix of attitudes in her attempt. Only it didn´t help her much. Not after he´d arrived. One gaze from him and the matter had been settled. Fantine would have to pay for the pitcher by reducing her payment.

Madeleine had almost kicked something in his frustration, considering that this very payment had been nothing but blackmail money. In some way the kid had done him a favor by giving him a reason to cut it short again, right from the start.

Of course Fantine would find a way to remind him in time, that she still had an ace up her sleeve and that it would be in all of their best interest to raise the payment again to the formally agreed level.

But for now he´d won.

**...**

It was almost a week later that he heard the scratching noise outside his door. He was in the process of writing a letter, when it began. Frowning he got up and opened the door.

The girl, cowering in front of him, jumped up, as if caught in the act, and gasped loudly. Madeleine met two big watery blue eyes staring at him, frozen.

"What are you doing?" he demanded to know.

The girl clutched a piece of paper between her hands. "I … I …"

"Well?"

"I just wanted to give you that?" she held out the paper and immediately withdrew it again to resume her nervous clutching.

"What is that?" Madeleine demanded to know. "Why are you damaging my door?"

"I wasn´t …" she instantly started but stopped again. "I … I tried to shove it underneath it." she explained.

Madeleine raised a brow. The kid was scared of him and it had every reason to be. But this behavior was nothing short but annoying.

"Show me that!" he demanded, and the girl quickly handed over the paper.

He unfolded it, and faced what was probably the handwriting of a very inexperienced person. It read "Sory for braking your pitcha."

Madeleine frowned even deeper. "What is this?" he asked, glaring down at the girl. She looked up at him, and she seemed disappointed.

"Can´t you read it?" she asked.

"Of course I can. What I want to know is where does that come from? Who wrote that?"

At this the girl smiled the brightest and proudest smiles. "I did."

Madeleine was struck for a moment "You." he repeated and the girl nodded, startled by his disbelieve.

"You are literate?"

"Mama taught me." she explained, uncertain.

"When?"

"She began a day after we got here. She says it´s important that I know my letters."

Madeleine´s brow remained furrowed. "Did she?"

"Yes, Monsieur. Just as important as having all your things in order at your house." she recited with a proud smile.

Madeleine looked back down on the pitiful note. "You have to keep learning." he told her. "It´s all wrong."

The girl´s brow furrowed in confusion at this reveal. "No, it´s not. I wrote it just like Mama taught me."

"Your mother only learned to write some time ago. She´s still making mistakes, and she teaches you those same mistakes." he handed the letter back but the girl shook her head.

"No. This was for you."

"It´s wrong."

The kid looked up at him, not saying a word and for a moment he didn´t know why. Until he saw the water in her eyes.

"All right, I´ll keep it." he rolled his eyes. "Thank you."

The sad expression was gone, but not her asking face.

"Is there anything else?"

"How much did I do wrong?" she asked him.

"What? With that?" he held up the note and she nodded. "About half of it." he told her merciless and once again she looked very sad. "It´s not your fault." he reassured her, not really sure why. "Your mother didn´t know she taught you wrong. How would _you_ know?"

For a moment the girl looked very contemplative, as if she tried to figure out the hardest question in the world. Madeleine knew he should have closed the door by now, but something in him just couldn´t. He needed to know what she could possibly be thinking now.

"If Mama doesn´t know, how can I learn it right?" she then asked him. And Madeleine raised his brows.

"I guess you can´t."

Again this disappointed look. "Why not?"

"Because there´s no one who could teach you, except your mother."

"You could."

Madeleine laughed out at this. Insolent just like the mother.

"No." he told the startled girl. When she looked at him pleading and asking the same time – the talent for combination seemed to run in the family just like the boldness – he told her, in a tone that didn´t allow objections: "I don´t have time for such things. If you want to really learn to write correct, you have to figure out a way yourself." And with that the discussion was over. "Good night."

He closed the door, listening for the sounds of her retrieving steps. This kid was almost as crazy as the mother. Daring to ask him to teach her. Ha! Just like the mother. Just like the mother.

**...**

God, if he only knew what to do about this. He was a prisoner in his own household by now. In his own life even. Held captive by Fantine´s extortion. She had the shirt, the one piece of bloody clothing he´d not given back to Javert, the one he´d switched with another, in order to keep this evidence … to do the exact same thing to Javert one day, that Fantine was doing to him now.

God in heaven, how did this happen?

She had to have it close. Fantine. She was a neat and methodical woman. The kid had said so herself. Always have everything in order in your house. _In_ your house. Of course, the shirt had to be here. In. The. House.

Who said the gamin hid it? She could have payed him to say whatever Madeleine was supposed to hear. And for real she would have hidden the shirt right under his nose. It would make sense. She was a good bluffer. She had said so herself. In some way she had told him the day when she had come to his room with her demands. _There´re many things you don´t know about me._ Well, but this time she´d said too much. This time he´d caught her lie.

He would find the shirt, and when he had it, Fantine would pay for what she´d dared. Dearly.

**...**

It wasn´t that Fantine hadn´t expected any reaction to what she had done. Of course Madeleine would do something. Only she hadn´t expected something quite as extreme. A man that usually was so controlled and calm as him. It was a strange thing to see him lose it. And there was really no other way to call it.

When Fantine passed the door to his study and found the room a total mess, him inbetween all this, she almost believed to dream. That´s how strange it was.

At first he didn´t even notice her, so occupied was he in his frantic but astoundingly methodical searching. Fantine wasn´t sure if she should feel pity or fear.

"What are you doing?" she asked despite the fact that she knew the answer.

Madeleine flinched, like someone who was caught in the act. But that expression soon changed to annoyance about her intrusion. He didn´t care to answer her, just turned back to his shelves and cupboards.

"It´s not here." Fantine spoke, calmly, but it was obvious that he didn´t believe her.

"How did you do it?" he asked her instead. "Do you move it, everyday to another hiding place? Hoping I won´t look there again a second time? It won´t work. I´m gonna find it."

Fantine only sighed. The feeling was pity now, she was sure of it.

"It´s not here." she repeated but he only laughed.

"Then you won´t mind if I keep looking."

Fantine lowered her gaze. "No." she said. "It´s your house."

With that she left, her last glimpse of him being of a lost Madeleine glancing about the mess he had created in his own home.

"Exactly." she heard him say.

**...**

It took him over a week but in the end he finally ran out of ideas where to look. He had searched the entire house, one room at a time, one wardrobe at a time. He didn´t find it. And then, one afternoon, he passed his library and there she was. The girl. Cosette. She was sitting on the floor, a book before her, and she appeared to be reading.

Madeleine frowned. Since when was that girl literate enough to actually read in one of his books?

"What are you doing?" he asked and she flinched, jumping up like a criminal.

"Nothing." she claimed, useless as it was.

Madeleine stepped in. "That´s one of my books." he pointed out.

The girl tensed, getting even more nervous. Her eyes went down to the book, still open on the floor.

"I only borrowed it." she assured him. "I was going to put it back."

Madeleine regarded her, still frowning deeply. "What are you doing then?" he wanted to know.

Cosette put one foot over the other, fidgeting before him. "You said I should." she spoke, making him raise his brows.

"I said?"

"You said I should find a way to learn it right. Books are written by people who do it right. So I check what Mama teaches me, if they write it the same way. Some of them don´t. So I guess those are the things she did wrong."

The girl looked up at him, asking. Her last sentence was clearly waiting to be affirmed. As if she wasn´t sure yet, about her own reasoning. Madeleine on the other hand was surprisingly impressed, despite himself. She was determined, he had to give her that.

"Just … don´t damage any of those books." he instructed her.

"No, I promise. I´m very careful. See?" She went down to caress the book before her, almost lovingly. As if it was something precious.

Only in this moment Madeleine couldn´t care less about the book.

"Let me ask you something." he said, making the girl look back up. "Your mother. Did she mention anything to you about a shirt, she put somewhere here in the house?"

The child furrowed her brows at him. "Why?" she asked. "Do you need one?"

"I´m missing one, yes. I … misplaced it. Or rather … your mother did. I just wonder if she mentioned to you where she put it."

"Why don´t you ask her?"

Good question. "She won´t tell me."

"Why not?"

Madeleine smiled. "That´s hard to explain. You wouldn´t understand. Just tell me if she said anything."

For a moment the girl truly seemed to think about it. But in the end she only shook her head.

"You wouldn´t lie to me, would you?" Madeleine asked, mildly. "I wouldn´t want to punish you just for being in here in my library."

"Please, I don´t lie." the kid cried. "She didn´t say anything about a shirt. Please, Monsieur, I just wanted to learn it right."

There was something earnest in her eyes. She was a kid after all. And even though Madeleine had learned that even at a young age a person was capable of deception, he really didn´t see any of the signs in this child´s eyes. So he had mercy at last.

"All right." he nodded and turned around to leave. "Go back to your study then."

He did not look back, to see her upset eyes.

**...**

It was in the evening of the same day, that Fantine dared to knock on the door of the man, she rather avoided. But today she simply had to see him. She had to _tell_ him.

He did not comment on her entrance, did not rise from his seat, only glanced at her. As if he knew what she would have to say.

She didn´t care.

"It´s all right to be mad at me." she said. "I put this on you after all. But leave my daughter out of it. She doesn´t know anything."

There was no change in his face, whatsoever. "So she told me."

The hostile tone he used, made something inside Fantine, fume with a pulsing anger. She stepped closer to him and he still didn´t move. Only his gaze followed to keep eye contact. A silence that made him seem so much more dangerous, if she would have been honest with herself. Like a predator that waited until the prey was close enough before he´d jump.

Only in that moment Fantine didn´t see any of this. In this moment all she cared about was this anger in her chest. Anger about this ridiculous game they were playing. A game she hadn´t asked for.

"Let me ask you something." she said. "What would you do if you actually found it here in the house? Would you send us away? Back on the streets? Where you know we´d die sooner or later? Is that what you want?"

She looked into his eyes, still so hard, still unchanged, and it was strange to look down on him. Usually she would have to look up, to meet his eyes. But right now, it almost seemed as if he was trying to hide some hurt pride. Behind a well maintained curtain of coldness.

"Just hope you won´t find out." he answered her question, and the heat in Fantine´s chest flared up even more at his words.

She turned on her heel, fuming and left his room without a word.

**...**

The search continued. Another week passed without any change or success. And in time Madeleine felt drained, exhausted, at the end of every day. He found himself sitting in his armchair like an old man, staring into the slowly burning flames of his chimney and something inside of him just wanted nothing but sleep. Sleep.

Only he couldn´t. He hadn´t been able to sleep for over a week. And by now it felt like an eternity.

Damn you, Fantine.

As if his thoughts had called her in, the damnable woman suddenly appeared by his side, approaching cautiously. Madeleine didn´t even have the strength to glare at her.

"I know it must be hard." he heard her speak. "To keep this a secret."

He merely laughed. "I thought keeping it secret was the idea."

"But this is one you can´t even tell your friend, can you?" Fantine went down to hunch by the armchair. As if she was talking to a child. He was too tired to feel angry.

"It´s his shirt, isn´t it?" she asked. "Just like the uniform you made me clean."

"Don´t push me, Fantine." he warned. "My patience is limited."

For a moment she lowered her eyes, thinking. "You know …" she began. "I didn´t even want this. You gave me no choice. I´m sorry but this was about my daughter."

He didn´t answer. Didn´t look at her.

"I know …" she said. "… how hard it is to have a secret you can´t talk about to anyone."

"You don´t talk to me about secrets." he spoke, unable to believe this pretentiousness. When he glanced at her, her gaze was on him, unashamed. Oh dear God. She couldn´t possibly mean to …?

"You want to offer yourself as my counselor now?"

The woman beside him shrugged, almost innocent. "It might … help." she said. "If we could reconcile. Come to a truce."

Madeleine could not believe his ears. Suddenly he found the energy again to rise in his seat, to glare at her. "There won´t be a truce." he told her. "Unless you give me that shirt."

"You know I can´t."

"Then you´ll suffer the consequences as soon as I find the shirt on my own."

There was a brief silence.

"It´s not here."

He laughed, feeling more tired than ever, and leaned back, eyes under the ceiling. Not on her.

"Of course not."

Fantine didn´t respond. She simply got up again, and left the room, without a word. She didn´t even try to claim again, that the shirt wasn´t here.

Madeleine sighed and massaged his temple. The problem was, by now he really didn´t believe anymore that it was either.


	10. Do or Die

**Do or Die**

Days had begun to turn into a collection of hours for him. Hours that passed by, way too quickly. Or way too slow. Sometimes he wasn´t sure what was worse. He still didn´t know what to do. The shirt wasn´t in his house, and by now he really didn´t know anymore how to get out of this damn situation.

He´d gotten himself into it, he knew. But that didn´t make it any better. He was a prisoner again, a fugitive, living in constant fear of being caught. The thought became his companion, something that was with him at all times, if he wanted it or not. Even if he tried to force it away, it simply wouldn´t leave him. What if Fantine decided to pay him back what he´d done to her after all? She could find a way to get out of the whole thing easy, he was sure she could. But he … God, it would be the end of him.

"Monsieur le Maire?" a concerned voice penetrated his mind, making him look up.

"Hm?" he made, and was back to reality. "Yes. Yes, I´m sorry, Javert." he apologized. "I´m sorry, you were saying?"

The inspector did not respond at once, did not pick up his report. Instead he regarded him, closely.

"Monsieur le Maire." he asked. "Are you all right?"

Madeleine forced a smile on his face. "Of course." he lied. "I´m fine. I´m fine, Javert, carry on."

But of course the good inspector would not be as easily fooled as his guards.

Thomás and the others had long understood the silent order to give Madeleine and the inspector their privacy when the latter came to deliver his daily report, and so Javert was free to speak as he saw fit. He stepped closer to the desk, a deep frown darkening his gaze, and did just that.

"Pardon me my intrusion, Monsieur, but you don´t look fine. Is anything bothering you?"

Madeleine could not stop the laugh that came up at this. It did not irritate Javert at all.

"I guess there is, now isn´t there?" Madeleine admitted, against his own nature.

In any other case he would have denied everything, claimed the world was in perfect order and went on with the normal business. Deal with your own business at home, not in front of others. And in his case this meant, in front of no one. Too dangerous, too open, too close for comfort. But in this case it was different. And Madeleine had no idea why.

All he knew was that he could not sit any longer, so he got up and started walking. The fireplace was his natural target, as if the mantelpiece and its contents held a certain refuge for his troubled mind. How the hell was he supposed to address any of this mess he was in?

"It´s been eating you up, isn´t it?" Javert spoke behind him out of the blue and much more assured than Madeleine would have expected it. As if the inspector truly knew so much more than he would have given him credit for. Madeleine turned around, startled and faced a gaze that was so open and unafraid. So compassionate. Strange, especially from Javert.

"I´ve noticed it." Javert affirmed. "All week long."

Madeleine sighed, suppressing the bolt of alarm that wanted to rise in him. "I am really easy to read, am I not?" he said, not really a question, and Javert merely looked.

"Only to me." he answered with the faintest smile.

Madeleine nodded. It was so strange to have this man walk towards him, knowing he had figured him out like that and not feel panic at the idea. At least not the sort of panic he should feel. Instead he felt a certain longing, as if Javert had turned into a sanctuary, where he could safely store his secrets that slowly but steadily ate him up from the inside out these last few days. Like poison. Maybe Fantine was right, he mused now. Maybe sharing could really lead to reconciling.

And as ridiculous as that sounded, all it needed to finally tip the scales for him, was Javert, asking him in all earnestly: "What´s the matter?" and he was undone.

He poured it out to him, revealing this dilemma Fantine had put him through. His anger and fear, the very raw emotions Fantine´s trick had caused in him, the reason for his restlessness. Only just in time he could stop himself from revealing his own deception against Javert. Improvising quickly he put the dagger in place of the bloody shirt. Fantine had found the dagger he took from the dead man and used it to blackmail him. It sounded convincing even to him. It made sense. It could have happened that way.

The rest of the story remained the same.

Naturally Javert shared his concerns. "What did you do about it?" he asked and all Madeleine could do was shake his head.

"There´s nothing I can do. She planned it well, secured her own backdoors and possibilities. The gamin hid the … the dagger along with a letter that contains all the information Fantine has about me, instructing him to deliver it to the police should he ever learn something happened to her. If one day she wouldn´t be there to hand out his daily food to him at my door … Gosh I will be feeding half the street kids in Montreuil before I know it."

"That kid comes to your house every day?" Javert inquired.

"To my backdoor yes. The one that leads out the kitchen."

"Then he can lead us to the hidden dagger. We can make him show us. Without her leverage your housekeeper won´t have anything on you any longer."

Madeleine stared at Javert, shocked, almost frozen. Was it really that easy? Could it be?

"How?" he asked. "How would you make him show us? He has no reason to endanger his bargain he has with Fantine."

But Javert´s nod was certain. "I´ll convince him. Threatening him with prison should do the trick. We only need to snatch him after he got his meal from the woman. The rest should be easy."

Madeleine´s head was spinning. Was that really happening? Should it truly be Javert, the man he´d tried to deceive, who should rescue him and get his head out of this mess?

"A-Are you sure?" he stammered, and there was something completely devoted in Javert´s eyes.

"Monsieur le Maire." he spoke. "Let me do this for you. You won´t have anything to worry about."

No, I´m sure I wouldn´t, Madeleine thought, mind racing way too fast for him to keep up. Javert, he realized, was doing this for him. Not for himself. For him. Madeleine. His superior. Maybe even his friend.

Madeleine almost laughed. Sure. Friend. Javert was the one man he had to prepare and be ready to kill in case he should ever discover his true nature. In case he should ever be forced to go on the run again. Friend. If Javert knew, he would not even consider this word. And neither should he.

If he agreed to this plan, he knew, Javert would find out about his deception. He would. And then?

No. He couldn´t allow this.

But if he denied this offer, what would Javert think? Of course he must think Madeleine was hiding something. And he´d be right.

Dammit.

Before him the good inspector regarded him, patiently waiting for his answer. And Madeleine simply had none.

"Give me a day to think about it." he chose the cowardly way out. "All right?"

He could see the confusion, the already beginning suspicions, clearly written on Javert´s face. Why would he ask for time? Wasn´t the decision an easy one? For a man who´d told the whole story, it sure would have been.

Thanks God, Javert was faithful enough to accept even a cryptic answer. And Madeleine was more than grateful.

**...**

He waited for the boy on his own the next morning. At a corner by his house. The gamin had been to his back door, like always, to get his donated food from Fantine. When he came back to get lost in the streets again, Madeleine was ready.

"Boy." he called, holding up some money. Possible alms always drew the poor, and this one was no exception. Of course the kid followed him around the corner.

"You know who I am?" Madeleine asked, handing him the coin and the boy nodded.

"You are the mayor. And Fantine´s boss."

"Exactly. You´re a good friend of Fantine, right? After what you did for her she must trust you very much."

"I think so, sir." the kid seemed uncertain.

"I think so too." Madeleine agreed with a smile. "Otherwise she wouldn´t have asked me for this." He took out the small box, with the precious dagger inside. "You know that … that something she gave you to take care of for her?"

"The package?"

"Right, the package. And a letter, right? Right. Well, she asked me to tell you, to replace this with the first package." he held out the box to the kid but withdrew it again playfully when the boy reached out for it. "Bring the first one back here and put that where you hid the first one." He handed him the box at last.

"What is it?" the boy asked, wide eyed.

"Well, I don´t know." Madeleine claimed, innocent as one could be. "She didn´t tell me. But I trust her and so should you."

The young boy nodded, dutifully and completely trusting. This was almost too easy.

"Good boy." Madeleine praised, ceasing his luck. "So bring this to where you hid the other things. And return the first package. She said she needs it back. Bring it to my factory and ask for the foreman. He´ll pay you some more when you deliver it. Understand?"

At the mention of the money, they boy´s eyes began glowing happily.

"Yes, sir." he smiled, ready to do whatever Madeleine would instruct him to do.  
>Yet when Madeleine handed him another coin, the boy revealed how unfamiliar he truly was with the concept of money.<p>

"That is a Napoleon!" he cried, almost as if he wanted to ask Madeleine if he didn´t make a mistake.

"It is." the mayor affirmed to the thunderstruck kid. "And you´ll get another one, as soon as you give the package to my foreman."

Finally the boy seemed to grab the reality of this. "I´ll go right away." he promised and was gone down the street the very instant.

Madeleine watched him go, smiling satisfied. So far so good.

**...**

His confidence in having done well with the boy, lasted no longer than he needed to get to his factory. After that it went downhill constantly. Every hour was a torture. Every minute pain and uncertainty. What if the boy was niftier than he´d seemed?

What if he´d seen through Madeleine´s lies after all, and just took the money, to run away and never return? Maybe he´d even told Fantine about Madeleine´s try to outsmart her, making it easy for her to think up something new. Something that would throw all of this back at him, maybe even worse than before, in some bizarre way of an instant karma. What if …

And that was the moment his foreman knocked on his door, making him stop in his restless pacing and swirl around frantically. He´d almost cried out in his state but he could just about contain himself.

It was a miracle. The boy had delivered the package. It was a bundle, wrapped in paper and corded with some old shoelace as it seemed. But it was good enough to conceal the contents of this package. At least from the foreman.

"I still don´t understand this, Monsieur." he admitted, handing the package to an almost dizzy Madeleine.

The mayor only chuckled. "It´s just a joke, foreman." he said. "A private one between me and the inspector. Just … don´t say anything, all right? It would spoil the fun."

The foreman was not sure, Madeleine could see that, but he agreed to keep his mouth shut. As soon as he was gone, Madeleine´s focus was fixed entirely on the package in his hands. He had it. Dear God, he had it.

Only …

It was still possible that this package contained something else than he expected. Could it be?  
>His hands frantically tore off the paper. His mind was spinning. Please. Please, don´t let it …<p>

It was the shirt. The blood-stains were just how he remembered them. Javert´s cuffs and collar. The evidence he had kept to blackmail his friend with it, one day should he ever find out who Madeleine really was. The shirt that should have been his insurance, and that had turned out to be his doom. Almost.

All the sudden he felt disgusted, just looking at the thing, and on an impulse he grabbed it, fiercely and threw it into the fire. Be gone, you infernal thing. This threat would be over now.

A second later he realized that this very shirt, now blazing in his chimney, was still the only thing that would – one day – keep Javert from arresting him. His heart skipped a beat, and following another impulse, Madeleine grabbed a fire iron, and fished the burning shirt out of the fire. It spun in the air before him, almost setting his coat on fire, and landed on the carpet to his feet.

Of course the fire spread instantly, and Madeleine found himself dancing and stumping like a madman, to keep the fire from torching the whole carpet. Thanks God the shirt had been burned down to almost nothing by that time. It was out quickly enough to save most of the carpet.

It did not, though, save Madeleine from an embarrassment that could as well end in a lifetime in prison. Because just as he was done smothering the flames, a voice called out his name. A very familiar voice.

"Monsieur le Maire!" Javert sounded alarmed, but stopped in his approach when he saw that the flames were already out. "What happened?" he asked.

Madeleine panted, desperately trying to keep a dignified posture. There was just no escape from that man, was there?

"Nothing." he claimed. "Everything is fine, Javert, I … I was just a little clumsy."

The inspector frowned down on the carpet, and the burned thing at Madeleine´s feet. The shirt was burned beyond repair. And in this moment, Madeleine was filled with the oddest mix of relieve and regret.

"What were you doing?" Javert asked and Madeleine answered, quickly as always.

"Just … burning an old shirt my foreman found downstairs. Maybe I should let someone else take care of such things from now on. I seem to be unfit for such a simple task of disposal."

He chuckled and met the inspector´s gaze again. Javert was still frowning. But if he had to guess Madeleine would have said, he was not in any danger right now, to be accused of trying to destroy evidence.

He picked up the black remains of the shirt and threw it back into the flames. There was nothing to be saved anyway.

For a moment they just stood there, watching the fire, eating away the rest of what was supposed to be Madeleine´s life insurance. Until eventually Javert broke the silence.

"Monsieur le Maire." he sounded official again. Like always. "I came early today to ask you … if you put some thoughts into what we discussed yesterday."

The mayor took a deep breath. Slowly his nerves found back to their usual stillness. He gave Javert a solemn nod.

"Yes." he said. "I did. And yes, I believe you´re right. Finding that gamin is the best chance we have … to put an end to Fantine´s blackmailing." he shook his head, frowning, as if deep in thought, and worried even deeper. "This can´t go on like this."

"Then we will do just as I suggested." Javert sounded satisfied.

"What exactly does that mean?" Madeleine asked, taking good care to sound eager and ready to follow Javert´s instructions. For he was the one who knew how to spin such a plan.

"We´ll wait for the gamin in the morning." Javert explained. "After he collected his food from your employee, we grab him, and make him show us where he hid the dagger."

Madeleine made a show of being tensed. "And you´re sure this will work?" he asked. "What if …?"

"Monsieur." Javert interrupted mildly. "It is my job to deal with criminals like this. Young or old. I know how they think. It will work."

Madeleine smiled, reassured. It was almost touching. "All right." he said. "I´ll trust you, Javert."

**...**

And he did. At no time did he act in any other way than a man who held complete and unwavering trust in the other, to do what was necessary, to save the day for both of them. He let Javert take the lead, when they waited for the kid and when they forced him to show them his hiding place. Javert had been right, threatening him with prison did the trick. It made him shut up instantly, when he was close to reveal in his innocence, that the mayor had spoken to him a day earlier. It was the only moment in this whole affair that brought Madeleine close to panic.

And then, when at last the inspector reached into the little hole in the wall, where the kid had hid Fantine´s items, he didn´t have to pretend to be amazed. This little adventure had almost been too easy.

Javert handed him the dagger, and when Madeleine´s fingers closed around it, he felt like he´d just received the most precious trophy. This was it. By taking this from Javert, the act was completed. He burned Fantine´s letter on the spot, not even bothering to open and read it. And with this piece of paper his last burden fell to the ground. The evidence was destroyed. For good.

He still had the inspector´s trust, and even more important his loyalty. The weight of the dagger seemed to prove it. Beyond any doubt. And yet Madeleine could not help but do just that.

When Javert grabbed the gamin again, telling him he´d go to prison for thievery and extortion, Madeleine surprised himself by demanding that he´d let the boy go. It was probably better, he told himself. If the kid was smart he´d get the hell out of Montreuil, to never return. One person less that could testify against him.

And yet. On some level Madeleine knew he was innocent. That the kid would not even think about trying to get back at him. Fantine maybe. But not this kid.

"Let him go." he repeated, and this time he meant it.

Javert let go, and barely a second later the gamin was gone, quickly like a mouse that rushed away from the cat. And seeing him vanish made Madeleine feel better somehow.

For a moment they stood in silence, the dagger still weighting in Madeleine´s hand. Still proof of what just happened – what almost happened – and what was now finally over.

But was it? Was it?

"We should probably let his vanish." Javert spoke into the silence, as if he´d read Madeleine´s thoughts. "If you keep it, your servant could take it again, to use it against you."

It was like a smack to the face. Not because Madeleine wouldn´t have thought about that himself. But because it was Javert who suggested it. The all good inspector, who´d been ready to turn himself in, when it had been about his own failure. And now he truly suggested to let evidence vanish, to cover up a possible involvement of his mayor.

"You don´t have to protect me, Javert." he heard himself say, and in his chest he felt a strange stitch of pride. "This sort of … semi-illegal covering I dragged you into …" he shook his head, not recognizing himself or his genius plan any longer. "You´ve done enough."

Javert was frowning. His mouth was open, as if he wanted to say something. But then he seemed to reconsider.

"It still has to go." he repeated instead. And of course he was right.

Madeleine nodded.

Together they made their way down to the old harbor. A place that was probably more than questionable if the word would get around the mayor and his inspector had been spotted there. But it was the best place Madeleine could think of, to dispose the infamous dagger.

They made their way down to the embankment. To the water of the sea. They walked until the ground became too soggy to carry them any longer, before they would completely ruin their boots. When they stopped Madeleine wished he could make his thoughts stop just as easy. But that was the only thing he could not control.

"Can I ask you a question?" he addressed Javert without looking at him. Suddenly the distant waters seemed so much more interesting.

"Of course." was the immediate answer. Javert did not know what was coming.

Madeleine took a breath. Maybe he didn´t either.

"I know …" he began. "That a question like that is always useless. For no one can turn back time and do things over. But … if you could. Just if. And … given it had not been me in this allay. Not the mayor I mean. If I had been someone else. A simple man, with no title, no authority over you. A poor man even."

He met the confused gaze of his so called friend and shook his head.

"I know you wouldn´t have done all this, if it hadn´t been for my title. For the power I hold over you. I … I know that, you don´t need to tell me, it´s all right."

He lowered his gaze, regarding the dagger as if something important was on it´s surface.

"It´s all right." he repeated, hating himself for all this ridiculous babbling. "I don´t know why I asked, I´m sorry. Let´s carry on."

He turned ready to wind out and throw the dagger into the sea, but before he could even lift his arm, Javert made him stop.

"Monsieur." he spoke, startling Madeleine. His gaze was open, almost gentle, a rare sight in this usually so hardened face. A sight that made Madeleine feel vulnerable. And feeling vulnerable scared Madeleine.

"The things I did …" Javert began, and hesitated. It seemed to be a hard thing for him too, to speak out what was on his mind. "I did for my friend." he said it at last. "Not for my mayor."

The strike went right through his heart. Why, Madeleine cried in his mind. Why did he feel guilty? He shouldn´t. He shouldn´t feel a thing. What he had done, had been necessary, nothing more. For his survival. And that should be the only thing in the world that mattered to him. Not Javert´s honor, or his deceived trust. Nothing of this.

But it did. Goddammit, it did.

"You´re not my friend, Javert." he pressed out. "You wouldn´t be. If you really knew me, you wouldn´t be."

God, why did he not stop talking? Why did he say all these things? What good could come of this? He´d give himself away before he knew it. What did he want? Break down before Javert and confess it all, crying and asking for forgiveness? Had he lost his mind?

"I know you good enough to know that you´re a good man, Monsieur." Javert spoke, and Madeleine knew, just knew, the inspector meant every word. "You helped me. When I made a mistake, when I faltered and came close to falling, you were there. You protected me. And I owe you the same."

There was a lump in Madeleine´s throat, probably put there by his own insanity. "A bargain then." he brought out, but Javert shook his head.

"A promise." he said. "A vow. To serve you, with everything I have. Just like a good inspector should."

The man placed his fist over his heart, and bowed before him, like a soldier, and somehow it made this whole ordeal even worse. Madeleine could only stand there and shake his head.

"One day you might think differently." he foretold Javert.

But of course Javert did not understand.

**...**

His thoughts would not let it rest, the entire day. Madeleine was frustrated and angry when he made his way home. But most of all he was worried. Again and again he recalled the last minutes down at the docks, when he´d thrown the dagger into the sea at last.

Javert had offered to do it for him, for he was a trained police man, surely able to throw farther than Madeleine. But Madeleine had declined, with a smile.

Maybe he shouldn´t have.

When he had thrown the dagger, it had seemed like a simple task. No big deal. It had vanished out of sight before it had finished rising, but other than that, Madeleine had not thought much of it. Until he´d seen Javert´s face.

The inspector had frowned at him, startled, almost gobsmacked at this simple demonstration of strength. When Madeleine had asked him for the reason, he´d shook his head, and claimed it was nothing. But dammit, Madeleine knew. He knew.

It was his day of awful mistakes as it seemed. Dammit, why? Why had he not let Javert throw the damn thing? It could have been so easy. He could have let the sleeping dog lie. But now …

He reached his home, recalling another source for his troubles. Only _she_ was beyond any doubt on the losing end of this affair. At least one fight would be won today. And after that it would be over. Over!

When Madeleine entered his house, he was stumping, furiously. The closer he got to Fantine´s room, the angrier he was.

He tore open the door, making her and the child swirl around, gasping.

"Fantine!" he demanded. "I need to talk to you. In my room. Now!"

Fantine´s hand wandered down to the shoulder of her child, and Madeleine´s eyes were drawn to the scared girl.

He sighed. "Get her to bed." he spoke, a littler quieter. "I´ll be waiting."

With that he closed the door, and went to his room.

It took her about ten minutes to arrive. Her gaze was cautious, like that of a deer smelling the hunter. She knew something was coming.

"What is it you wish?" she asked him, and Madeleine could not hold back any longer. He laughed at her, a repressed, grim laughter.

"I found it." he revealed to her, right away. "I told you I would." When she only looked at him uncertain, his laughter vanished, erased by his anger. "The shirt, Fantine." he told her, and watched with delight how irritation slowly made room for shock. "You have nothing against me now." he finished, triumphantly. "Not anymore."

The skinny woman before him shook her head, in denial. "You make this up." she spoke, and this time his laughter was a real one.

"Believe me I don´t." it was such a relief to tell her this. "This game is over at last. No more games, Fantine. Only truth." He allowed himself to take in her sight for a moment, before he moved. She gasped but this time he would not choke her. Not quite. He knew his grip was painful enough in any case.

"And the truth is." he continued his speech, breathing down on her. "That I am sick of this game. Of the two of us pretending we have the other figured out and trying to get the better of one another."

Fantine shrunk down, away from his hot breath. At last she was scared of him.

"What are you gonna do?" she asked, her voice small and quiet.

And Madeleine could only stare at her, unable for a moment to find the words, to make his mouth speak them.

"You always knew what I wanted." he managed at last, pulling himself together. He needed to keep control. Before he could let go of this mask. "So now." he demanded. "What´s it gonna be?"

Fantine was unsuccessfully trying to fight her tears. "How do I know you´re telling the truth?" she attempted to rebel one last time, but Madeleine´s cold chuckle suffocated this attempt right from the start.

"Oh, you just have to trust me on this." he smiled at her. "Or maybe ask your little gamin. He might still be out there somewhere. If he didn´t run off, all the way to Paris after the scare Javert gave him."

His smile vanished when she didn´t respond. She didn´t respond because she knew she´d lost.

"This game is over now, Fantine." he told her anyway, just in case she should still doubt this. "Now it is my rules or no one´s. Take it or go back to where you came from. Right now. It´s your choice."

The woman before him was tense, tears swelling in her eyes, while she tried not to let them show. It was too late. He knew it. And he knew it all. He had won. And this was his price. Something no one would take away from him again. Not even Fantine.

When she nodded at last, it was a very faint gesture, almost impossible to see. But Madeleine saw. He´d always see it.

Fantine closed her eyes. And he yanked her up, claiming what was now rightfully his, what she had surrendered to him freely, what would prove now and for all times, that he was the master, and that no one would ever dare to play with him. She was slack, stiff, all at once, but he didn´t care. This was power in its purest form. And when inbetween it felt like making love to one already dead it didn´t change a single thing. Not for him. Because he was the winner, and he owned her. She would never be anything but his servant, always and forevermore. And after this night even she would know this.


End file.
